


Tuesdays

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Jon/Olyvar but strictly professional lol, M/M, No Tragic Backstory, One Shot, POV Theon Greyjoy, PWP, Theon is bored, a different kind of Theon, brothel, but has things done to him, he doesn't do all that much actually, jon is a sex worker, just Theon how he could be, kind of, not a one shot after all sue me, or it's just an excuse for not-deep lazy porn, there's NO dub or non con here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22392946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Theon hums, not entirely convinced, He lets his gaze wander over pretty Jon, laid out on the table like a feast. His backside is as perfect as his front, even more so. Perfectly proportioned, strong shoulders… Theon’s gaze wanders over the slope of Jon’s spine to his round, pert buttocks. They’re a work of art, really. Smooth and pale and forming a flawless curve, perfect to grab and squeeze and lick and bite… Theon shifts in his seat. The sight apparently is enough to make his dick harden in his pants.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow
Comments: 174
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you're all well and either looking forward to the weekend or already enjoying it. 
> 
> So. What happened here, er... I had a mental image and couldn't concentrate on a single thing until I got it out of my head. 
> 
> I'm kinda embarrassed... and I thought I was past being embarrassed after the Vamp AU XD
> 
> PS: I had to delete and repost - sorry for the confusion!

Evenings have become the bane of Theon’s existence since he’s moved to the capital. Back home it hadn’t been a problem, coming home to his roommate and best friend, or going out with his other friends, or just crashing after an exhausting day. Now Theon is living alone, his friends have turned out to be bastards who haven’t visited him even once and his days aren’t all that exhausting anymore. Yes, the new job pays well. Yes, his flat is amazing and spacious and he has more money to spend than ever – and nothing to spend it on. Going out alone isn’t fun, and hanging out alone isn’t either. 

At least there’s the club. If someone had told Theon he’d be spending almost every evening in some sort of high end brothel – well, he probably would’ve been overjoyed, to be honest. And the first few evenings had been amazing, exploring all the different areas of the club. It’s a huge building, three floors and dozens of rooms and lounges and theatres. There’s the usual stuff: pornos playing in a large cinema room, a very nice girl-on-girl show Theon has watched two days in a row, dark rooms, a bondage area, private rooms to take one of the many beautiful workers to whenever one is in the mood, in sum: everything one can wish for. Every legal kink has its place at Petyr Baelish’s Palace of Decadence. 

His uncle had handed Theon the small plastic card with a grin and a lewd wink, platinum membership, lad, enjoy yourself. It gives him access to all the joys the club holds, at no extra charge for almost everything. Most of the time Theon frequents the excellent bar though, all drinks included and populated by all kinds of perfectly groomed women and polite, pretty boys. Some nights Theon takes one of them to a private room, or just to a booth right there if in the bar if he’s just after a blowjob or a nice, quick wank. By now he’s pretty well known among the staff, for his generous tips and, deservedly, Theon thinks none-too-humbly, for his skills in bed. 

The only day he hasn’t frequented the club until now has been Tuesday, meeting day, which means he has to sit in on endless meetings from morning till late. But today the last meeting had been cancelled, and faced with the prospect of spending the evening all by himself, Theon had fled into the club right after work. The atmosphere is somehow different, Theon notices as soon as he enters. There are way more people than usual for a night in the middle of the week, mostly men, all seeming to wait for something. There’s a line forming already in front of a door Theon had always thought leads to another private room, but obviously there’s something special about to happen. Curious, Theon gets himself a Rob Roy and joins the queue. Whatever it is, he wants to know if it merits this level of excitement. 

“Hey, sorry,” he says to the man in front of him. “What’s going on here? Chicks for free?”

The man turns around, looking at him curiously. “First timer, eh? No chicks, I’m afraid.” He chuckles shortly. “Not exactly for free either, that one’s got a hefty extra charge. Worth it though.”

In that moment a woman Theon has seen around the club on occasions approaches the queue, letting her gaze sweep over them. “Any VIPs among you, gentlemen? Platinum? Diamond?”

Theon shrugs and raises his hand, together with about five other men waiting in line. The woman smiles, pointing them over to the door that is just swinging open, and Theon quickly walks through. He finds himself in some kind of tiny amphitheatre, a few lines of cushioned chairs forming a semi circle around a small round space in the middle where another woman just sets up a massage table and covers it with a large, black towel. Theon sits down in the first row. It’s slightly raised and gives him a good view of whatever will go down on that table. Slowly, more men start to file inside, and Theon recognizes the guy he’s spoken to in the queue. He hurries to the front row, letting himself fall into the chair next to Theon. 

“Lucky bastard, you,” he says with a huge grin. “We gold members are mere mortals and have to rely on the luck of the draw, and you can go and see him every week? Lucky bastard,” he repeats good-naturedly. “Well, tonight I got lucky too.”

“What is this about?” Theon asks. “A massaging demonstration? I know how to do that, I’ve had classes before.”

“Just you wait and see. I guarantee you, you haven’t seen anything like  _ this _ before. Now where is… ah!” He gestures at the woman from before and she comes over, holding out a box of tissues to him. “Ta, love,” the man says, taking several. “You should take some too,” he advises Theon with a grin. “They don’t like jizz stains on their carpet.”

Theon shrugs. He’s pretty sure that whatever will go down here, he’ll have no problem keeping himself together until the show’s over and he can wank in the privacy of his home. Or one of the booths in the bar, with the helping hand of one of the girls. Just then the hustle around them starts to settle and quiet down when a slender, blond man wearing some kind of satiny scrubs appears in the middle of the room, raising his hands in greeting. 

“Good evening, gentlemen, and welcome to our weekly soiree. I see many regulars, welcome back. For those of you joining us for the first time, please note that there is an extra fee of three hundred pounds for the show, and another five hundred in case you get picked at the end.”

“What?” Theon hisses, flabbergasted. Three hundred bucks extra for some kind of show? And what does the guy mean by getting picked at the end? To do what?

“Now I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer.” The man smiles. “You know how shy our Jon is, so let’s give him some encouragement!”

Theon flinches when the men in the audience start to applaud furiously. Some are shouting the name of the alleged star, Jon, Jon, Jon, and when another man walks out from behind the curtain covering the back the audience erupts into cheers and whistles. Theon stares. This Jon person is standing there tensely, not looking at the crowded room. His gaze is firmly directed to the carpet, to his naked feet. The rest of him is equally naked, except for a towel slung low around his hips. He’s beautiful. Theon studies him, his flat stomach, a nicely sculpted chest, strong arms… His expression is strangely vacant, long dark curls clouding around his face. Pretty, with dark, hazy eyes, slightly pink cheeks and his mouth… Theon swallows. Damn, that’s a perfect mouth. Still...

“Hey, he’s not drugged or so, is he?” Theon whispers to his neighbour who’s still applauding enthusiastically. “I’m really not into that kind of thing.”

“What? Oh, no.” The man whoops loudly, eyes greedily plastered on Jon. “I once asked Olyvar - the blond guy - and he said he gets the question a lot, but that’s just how Jon is, caught up in his own head. Not much of a showman, I guess. Hell, yeah!!”

Theon looks back to the stage just in time to see the towel drop to the floor, and without acknowledging his fans at all Jon clambers onto the table where he lies face down, head resting on his right arm. 

“Why’s he doing that then?” Theon asks, slightly bewildered. Whatever  _ that _ is. “If he’s not into it?”

“Rumour has it he’s paying off an old family debt to Baelish. Don’t you worry, lad.” The man laughs. “Our pretty Jon does get his dues. It’s not like he actually has to do much.”

Theon hums, not entirely convinced, He lets his gaze wander over pretty Jon, laid out on the table like a feast. His backside is as perfect as his front, even more so. Perfectly proportioned, strong shoulders… Theon’s gaze wanders over the slope of Jon’s spine to his round, pert buttocks. They’re a work of art, really. Smooth and pale and forming a flawless curve, perfect to grab and squeeze and lick and bite… Theon shifts in his seat. The sight apparently is enough to make his dick harden in his pants. 

The blond man - Olyvar - is standing behind the table, facing the audience. He’s talking to Jon in a low voice, and after a while Jon reluctantly turns his head until he’s looking at the audience, too, or rather, through them. His eyes still have that hazy look, and he doesn’t seem very relaxed yet. Olyvar takes a few items out of his pockets, placing them on the table beside Jon. He takes a bottle and squeezes its content directly on Jon’s arse, making him jolt. Lube, Theon thinks absently.  _ That  _ kind of massage then. Olyvar rubs his hands together, saying something to Jon again and receiving a curt nod in return. And then the show starts. 

Olyvar moves one hand between the slicked cheeks, and Jon’s hands clench into tight fists, a muscle jumping in his bottom. Olyvar’s other hand wanders over Jon’s back, stroking gently, as if to soothe a spooked animal. But he doesn’t stop distributing the lube, firmly rubbing up and down the crease. Theon watches, gaze torn between the going ons there and the look on Jon’s face. He doesn’t look exactly comfortable, but there’s something fascinating about watching the colour in his cheeks deepen, lips pressing together, eyes screwed shut – until they suddenly open again wide, lips parting in a silent cry as the first finger enters his body. 

Theon leans forward, watching as the movements get a little faster, as Olyvar presses against the right spot and Jon’s hips start to lift off the table, as if he’s trying to get more. And more he gets. The finger slides in and out, massaging his insides, faster, Jon spreads his legs a little, hair falling into his face and obscuring it from view. But then Olyvar’s free hand is there, stroking it back again before moving up Jon’s spine, over his neck and shoulders, to the side and down again before finally coming to rest on the small of his back. Olyvar leans forward, whispers something, and another finger joins the first, both going in smoothly, and Jon’s breathing starts to get heavier, quick huffs, his back arches, one knee bending toward the edge of the table as his whole body spasms. 

It’s beautiful to watch, captivating, and Theon starts to understand why someone would pay such a hefty fee just for looking. His eyes flit over Jon, from the perfect curve of his arse to his tense shoulders and to his hands, no longer clenched into fists but clawing into the towel he’s lying on. He’s biting down hard on his lip, seeming to hold himself back from making any noise. He’s trembling, body tensing more and more as Olyvar’s fingers fuck into him harder, mercilessly pressing against his prostate until Jon’s shoulders hunch, his muscles jumping, and he emits a single, low groan that seems to vibrate through Theon’s whole body. 

Olyvar stops the movements of his fingers, slowly letting them slide out of Jon. He wipes them on the towel covering the table and steps away, back through the curtain. Theon frowns. His dick is uncomfortably hard and aching by now. This can’t be it, can it? Jon is lying motionless now, but his breath is still going hard, eyes open and looking into nothing. Under Theon’s gaze he shifts a little, almost onto his side. He’s rock hard, a wet spot showing where his dick had been pressed against the towel. Theon turns to his neighbour, who’s just tucking away his own dick with a satisfied sigh. 

“Is it over?” Theon asks, ignoring the still open fly and the wad of crumpled tissues in the man’s hand. 

“What? Gods, no.” The man grins lewdly. “We haven’t even started yet, lad.”

As if on cue Olyvar returns from behind the curtain, in his hand… Theon straightens, hands gripping the armrests of his seat. It’s a sleek, shiny vibrator, at least seven inches long. Olyvar steps up to the table, again reaching for the lube and pouring a generous amount on Jon’s still slicked arse. Jon shivers, turning back onto his stomach with an audible, shuddery sigh. He doesn’t look so tense now; the break seems to have helped a little with that. When Olyvar enters him with two fingers Jon inhales sharply before going lax again, loosely arranging his arms at his side. His eyes are closed, plump mouth soft and relaxed, something like a slight smile on it as the massage commences. 

Only when Olyvar turns the vibrator to a moderate setting and starts moving it down the cleft of Jon’s arse, over his balls, his dick and up again, Jon tenses a little. His hands open and close, his buttocks clench – and Olyvar starts to slowly shove the toy between them, inch by agonizing inch. Jon curls in on himself for a half second before he makes an effort to lay straight again, quick huffs turning into low groans as the toy glides in and out of him in quick, rough strokes. Jon tosses his head to the side, hair falling into his eyes but again Olyvar brushes it back again. Jon’s face is reddened, mouth hanging wide open as if he can’t get enough air into his lungs, his flanks quivering as the toy dives into him again and again. 

It’s so beautiful, and for a wild, desperate moment Theon wishes he were an artist, could capture the elegant slope of Jon’s back as he arches back against the vibrator, the way his stomach heaves, how his fingers look clinging to the edge of the table. Someone should film this, Theon thinks dizzily, so he could watch the video over and over, see in slow motion how Jon’s hole stretches around the toy, how his whole body shifts in elegant, undulating movements, how his pink tongue flits out to wet those plush lips… He could hear the soft groans whenever he wanted to, could close his eyes and pretend it’s him causing them, could pretend Jon is making them  _ just for him _ and not for a crowd of thirsty onlookers… 

The audience is completely quiet, the only sounds being the buzzing of the toy, the slick, wet noise when it digs deeply into Jon – and Jon’s groans, getting harsher, louder, ringing in Theon’s ears. He couldn’t look away if he wanted to, eyes burning as he stares unblinkingly at Jon. He’s thrusting back against the vibrator now, down against the table, fingers clenched around the wood so hard his knuckles whiten. And still Olyvar doesn’t let up, pressing the toy inside as deep as he can, turning the setting higher as he almost entirely pulls back, followed by a flurry of rapid, shallow thrusts that have Jon shake from head to toe. How long can he stand it, Theon wonders, how long can he hold back with that kind of stimulation–

Jon cries out, head thrown back as he grips the table harder than ever, and then the noises stop, no buzzing, no squelching sound, only Jon’s low, pitiful moans. He’s shivering, the end of the towel balled up in his fists. His head has fallen back again, a silky curtain of curls covering his face, and Theon wishes Olyvar would push it away again, wishes he could do it himself. He’s so hard he’s almost dizzy, his fingers are cramping from how hard he’s gripped the armrests of his chair, and yet Theon only has one thought:  _ Please don’t let it be over yet! _

But it seems to be over. Olyvar finishes wiping the vibrator and bends close to Jon’s ear, whispering something then waiting for Jon’s reply. When he straightens again he’s smiling, letting his gaze wander over the audience. 

“Gentlemen, today is your lucky day indeed. Our lovely Jon has agreed to let one of you finish what I started.” Olyvar opens his arms in a grand gesture. “Do we have any volunteers?”

“Oh,  _ fuck,” _ the man beside Theon groans, arm already up. “He isn’t always in the mood for that… oh gods, please pick me, please…”

Theon looks around. Not even half of the men are holding their arms up, something he can understand. Touching Jon… looking is one thing, but to really be able to touch him, to be responsible for making him feel good… it’s an intimidating thought. Theon shivers. And raises his arm. Olyvar takes his time. He waits for Jon to turn onto his side, and now he too is looking into the audience, seeming to really see them for the first time. His dark eyes sweep over the crowd, looking at each of the men in turn. And then he looks at Theon. Their eyes meet, Jon’s mouth tightens – he looks on. Theon’s heart sinks, disappointment heavy in his stomach as Jon finishes his inspection and turns to Olyvar, saying something Theon can’t make out. He looks down into his lap, trying to quench the ridiculous sense of loss rising in his chest, not hearing what Olyvar is saying. 

“Hey, are you deaf? Hello?”

Theon looks up as an elbow hits him sharply in the ribs. His neighbour is staring at him in bewilderment, and Theon’s head snaps up and to the stage where Olyvar is looking directly at him, expectant smile on his face. 

“Sir, I’d get a move on if I were you, before Jon thinks better of it.”

Feeling as if in trance Theon gets up on wobbly feet, making his way to the end of the row and the half dozen steps down to the middle where Olyvar greets him. 

“Wonderful!” he says loudly, then drops his voice to a whisper. “First time? You can touch him to your heart’s content except for his hair. Don’t try to kiss him, the last guy that did needed stitches.”

And with those encouraging words he steps aside and shoves Theon toward the table. Theon stumbles, catching himself before he drops down on Jon – who has used the time to sprawl out on his back, all shyness seeming gone. He looks sleepy, one arm behind his back the other loosely by his side. His dick is half hard, the tip wet and glistening. Theon swallows dryly against the lump in his throat. 

“Er...hi,” he says hoarsely. “My name is Theon.”

Jon’s lips quirk up a little, he raises his eyebrows. “Guess I don’t need to introduce myself,” he mutters. His voice is deep, husky, the hint of a smile in it. “Get on with it then. Theon.”

Slowly, not entirely sure what he’s doing here, Theon extends a hand. He places it on Jon’s flat stomach, feeling it moving under his fingers as Jon inhales deeply. His skin is warm, soft to the touch, and when Jon doesn’t protest or move away Theon splays his fingers, dragging them down until he’s almost reached Jon’s dick. It jumps, and Theon, emboldened, takes it gently in hand while his other hand starts to stroke over Jon’s chest, thumb catching on a small, rosy nipple. Jon moans softly, and closes his eyes, his dick hardening further in Theon’s grasp. Theon exhales slowly, a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and starts to stroke Jon’s length, squeezing lightly. He’s rewarded with another low moan, making him shiver. 

Jon is even more beautiful when relaxed like he is now, his face soft with only a small hint of red remaining in his cheeks. Theon stares at him, can’t get enough, wants to drink in the sight of Jon, wishes desperately he could kiss him, taste him… The urge comes so of a sudden Theon has no time to think it through. It’s not a good idea, really, not what he usually does, but all ifs and buts evaporate in a single heartbeat and Theon bends down, taking Jon’s dick in his mouth. He barely hears the shocked cry from the audience, doesn’t register Olyvar saying something somewhere, the only thing Theon has ears for is Jon’s cry of surprise, quickly turning into a harsh groan. 

Theon licks around the head, tasting the droplets oozing from the slit before he dives in and swallows Jon down. The warm flesh hardens more, thickens until Theon is on the brink of gagging. He hasn’t done this too often, has no idea if he’s as good at it as with everything else he does in bed and it soon gets too much, but still he doesn’t stop. Nothing could bring him to stop now, not the men watching, not Olyvar… only Jon. Jon doesn’t stop him. Jon cries out as Theon takes him as deep as he dares, as he swallows compulsively around the hard length. Theon bobs his head, and suddenly a pair of hands slide into his hair, tangle in it, holding him in place. Jon thrusts up into Theon’s mouth, nearly choking him and then he’s coming, long, violent gushes flooding Theon’s mouth and throat, and Theon’s world explodes. 

He pulls off after an eternity, coughing, dislodging the hands on his head in the process. Theon blinks away the tears that have come into his eyes from the strain, immediately looking for Jon’s face. Jon looks back, cheeks a lovely red again, mouth open and eyes wide, apparently completely blindsided. Theon straightens, noticing his own dick isn’t hard anymore and his pants are sticky. He’s come. In his pants, from sucking another man’s dick. Theon moves back a step, embarrassment threatening to drown him. Jon is still staring at him, silently watching Theon’s retreat. 

“Well, that was something we haven’t seen before!”

Olyvar’s loud voice reaches Theon’s ears as if through a veil. His own heart beats too loud, blood rushing like thunder in his head. 

“I’m to tell you you don’t have to pay the extra fee,” he says to Theon in a low voice before he addresses the room at large. “Gentlemen, thank you very much for your visit. I hope I’ll see you all again next Tuesday evening.”

Tuesday. Meeting day. Fuck meetings, Theon thinks as he leaves the theatre together with the other men, still feeling Jon’s gaze in his back.

He has to come back. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I don't know what to tell you. It was supposed to be a ONE shot. As in, one chapter. As in, come look at this porn I wrote, there's absolutely nothing else to it hahaha -_-
> 
> Well, here's the boys shooting AGAIN. I can't seem to keep myself under control ._.

Despite his best efforts, Theon doesn’t get out of next Tuesday’s last meeting. His boss insists it’s an important one, a lie as it turns out. It’s just as boring as the rest of them and when Theon finally gets off it’s too late for the show. He goes to the club the following evening, miserably drinking one cocktail after the other, eyes fixed on the door that won’t open for another six days. He turns down all advances from the club’s regular staff, mind wandering back to Jon, Jon’s body, Jon’s face… When another hand lands on his shoulders Theon barely turns around. 

“Not interested.”

“I’m sorry, sir…”

The voice is vaguely familiar and Theon lifts his head, blearily gazing at the someone disturbing the images of Jon floating through his brain. And then he recognizes the blond man, sitting up straighter, dislodging the hand on his shoulder – the same hand that had touched Jon, that had been in Jon just yesterday…

“You’re the one from last week, aren’t you?” Olyvar asks, taking a seat on the stool next to Theon. “I was looking for you yesterday.”

“I was at work,” Theon says, baffled. Why would Olyvar be looking for him? “Did I… I mean, do you want the money after all?”

“God, no.” Olyvar shakes his head, sighs. “It’s just… What you did to Jon there…” He shrugs, leaning an arm against the bar. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him since. Normally I have to plead with His Bashful Highness for minimum half an hour before he deigns to grace the audience with his presence. Yesterday he didn’t even wait for the towel, just strutted out as if he couldn’t wait to get going.”

Theon swallows, mind producing an all too appealing image of Jon rushing onto the stage, eager to get his treatment. But what does it have to do with him? He asks, and Olyvar lifts his hand in a questioning gesture. 

“I’m sure I don’t know. But once he was down he looked all over the audience and… I swear I haven’t seen him making a face like that ever before. He barely reacted to anything I did, and in the end he practically ran away. Very strange.”

Theon’s head is swimming, he’s trying to make sense of what Olyvar is saying. Can it really… could Jon have been looking for _him_? He stares at Olyvar, not sure what to say. Olyvar shrugs. 

“He’s threatened not to do another show. Not that he gave me a reason, but I guess it’s because you didn’t show up.”

“I _can’t,_ ” Theon says desperately. “Every Tuesday we have these fucking meetings, all bloody day. The last one is late and I couldn’t make it here before ten pm. The show starts at nine. I wish I could, but I can’t risk getting fired.” 

Theon groans, dropping his head into his hands. This is unbelievable. Jon, perfect, sexy, beautiful Jon wants him there and he can’t. It sucks, so much so Theon is actually contemplating to start looking for another job, when suddenly Olyvar clears his throat. Theon looks at him. He’s smiling. 

“So if we move the show to ten you’d be able to come? The boss says it’s okay, anything as long as Jon keeps doing his job. And another night isn’t possible, so…”

“You’d move the time,” Theon says, bewildered. “To accomodate _my_ schedule… to make sure _I_ can be there? Because _Jon_ wants me there?

“Apparently,” Olyvar comments dryly. “Maybe we should’ve just told the audience to suck his dick from day one. Not that we could’ve known it’d go down well. He’s always so prissy… I thought he was going to kick you in the nose when you started, to be honest. Why did you do it, by the way?” he adds curiously. 

“Fucked if I know.” Theon shrugs, and to his embarrassment he feels his face growing hot. “I just… dunno. I guess I wanted to make him feel good?”

“Hm.” Olyvar studies him thoughtfully before getting to his feet. “The boss said it’s okay to remit you the three hundred bucks for the show. And if – _when_ you get chosen again there’s no fee either.”

“But why? I mean, Jon says jump…”

“And the boss asks how high.” Olyvar grins. “You’ve no idea how the boy sells. Shame he’s not letting anyone fuck him or use his mouth. We’d make our whole turnover just with him.”

And with that he waves, leaving Theon to new thoughts, new enticing images. Fucking Jon… taking his lovely mouth, driving into his perfect body… Theon shudders, downing his drink in one go and getting up unsteadily. His cock is so hard it almost hurts, and he hurries into one of the booths as fast as he can. He opens his fly with shaking fingers, barely pulling his trousers and pants down enough to get his cock out. Eyes closed, Theon grips his length tightly, Jon’s image crystal clear in his mind. Jon as he sighs, as he moans, as his lips part in time with his thighs, and Theon imagines kissing that mouth while pushing into Jon, filling him up better than fingers or toys ever could, and Jon would cry out, would whisper Theon’s name… 

He comes in violent gushes, panting hard as the spinning walls start to settle around him. Fuck. It’s not possible, none of this. No kissing. No knowing how it feels to be in Jon, no hearing him whisper Theon’s name… There’s still the show, Theon thinks, desperately trying to quench the sudden, horribly displaced longing he feels. He can watch Jon. He can hear him. Maybe he’ll taste him again. Theon exhales, a shuddery breath that seems to come from deep within his chest. Tuesday is an eternity away.

***

When it does finally arrive, Theon’s a mess. He’s not sleeping well. Fractured, vague dreams of Jon have him wake up multiple times throughout the night, sweating and heart beating too fast. He can barely concentrate on his work, haunted by the clock seeming to stand still. He avoids the club, spends his evenings at home, wanking himself raw to the pictures of Jon his mind can’t stop painting. Tuesday comes, and Theon feels barely alive. He uses his lunch break to go home and shower for the second time that day, taking a fresh shirt back to work to be able to change after the last meeting. Time drags, and Theon hardly listens to the rambling of his boss and his colleagues, simply nodding or shaking his head when it seems appropriate. 

The drive to the club is the longest Theon has ever taken. His hands are gripping the steering wheel hard, else they would be shaking uncontrollably. When Theon finally makes it inside it’s ten minutes to ten, the queue has already formed and the woman he’s seen two weeks before is just asking for the VIPs. Theon goes over to her, more stumbling than actually walking. She looks at him coming with a knowing smile and, without a single word, Theon finds himself complimented through the door ahead of the other men waiting. 

He chooses his seat carefully, now that he knows what to expect. First row, same as last time, but today Theon goes for a seat more in the middle, reckoning he’ll have a better view of Jon’s face _and_ his body from there. Slowly the theatre starts to fill. Theon can feel their looks on him. Maybe some remember him from two weeks ago. Maybe some wonder why he gets special treatment. Theon wonders too. He doesn’t look at any of them, eyes fixed on the curtain that conceals Jon. It’s one minute to ten when the curtain moves and Olyvar’s tense face peers out. He scans the first row, visibly relieved when he catches Theon’s eye. He gives him a wink before vanishing again. 

He reappears almost at once, giving the same little speech Theon has heard before, but this time his voice sounds strangely sarcastic at the bit about Jon being shy. And really, the applause hasn’t even really started when the curtain flies aside and Jon marches out, head held high. Theon holds his breath as Jon looks directly at him and their eyes meet. He’s even prettier than Theon remembered, maybe more so because he doesn’t look dazed or hazy today. On the contrary, his dark eyes are sparkling and slowly his beautiful mouth turns into a tiny smile. 

Without taking his eyes off of Theon Jon drops his towel, very slowly clambering on the table where he, seemingly reluctant, breaks the eye contact. Theon finally exhales, black spots dancing before his eyes as he watches Jon arrange himself, laying his head down on his right arm, the other one dangling off the table. His eyes are closed, his breathing is slow and deep. He still flinches a little when the lube hits his naked arse, but apart from that he seems entirely different than the last time. Can this really be just because of _him_? Theon doesn’t understand it. But right now he doesn’t need to, for Olyvar pushes the first finger into Jon, and Jon’s eyes fly open. Looking directly at Theon.

It’s the same show as the one Theon has seen before, yet completely different. Jon isn’t trying to hold back, not at all. He arches into the fingers drilling into him, clasping at the towel he’s lying on, tossing his head back and forth… and all the while his gaze is locked with Theon’s, as if Jon is putting on a show just for him. Everything he does feels more purposeful, the lip-biting, the moans, the bitten-off scream when two fingers press into him harshly. Theon watches, transfixed, lost in the look in Jon’s eyes that gets hazier whenever a new wave of pleasure hits him. 

Theon’s cock throbs but he ignores it, no room in his mind for anything but Jon’s shivering body, laid out under so many eyes and yet it’s as if he’s only doing it for Theon, only for him, like a gift Theon has no idea what he’s done to deserve. He takes it gratefully. Nothing, no one, has ever made him feel like this, so helpless, so weak, so desperate for more. He treasures every single look, every sound ripping from Jon’s throat, every twitch of his muscles. The toy makes its appearance and Jon’s groans get throatier, deeper, he sounds as if he’s going to explode any moment. To both sides of him Theon can hear zips coming undone, flesh touching flesh, smothered voices moaning and sighing. It doesn’t matter, not really. Jon is doing it for him. 

Theon wishes it would last longer. He could spend hours and hours watching Jon getting taken apart under Olyvar’s skilled administrations, watching him lose himself in the pleasure, his perfect body straining off the table, his face the most beautiful thing imaginable. His moans are ringing in Theon’s ears, vibrating through his veins, husky and low. Olyvar pushes the toy deeper, the buzzing turning louder as he adjusts the setting, keeping it lodged inside Jon, and Jon cries out, head thrown back. Theon’s eyes are burning as he stares at Jon’s face, unblinking, afraid to miss a single moment. 

The toy is switched off abruptly, sliding out with a wet sound. Jon shivers, slumping down onto the table seemingly boneless. Olyvar bends low to Jon’s head. It’s impossible to discern what they are saying, but Theon holds his breath when Jon smiles lazily, then lifts his head from his hands and turns on his back, stretching his arms behind his head. His cock is soft and glistening – it looks like he did come this time, just from the massage and being pressed against the towel. Theon swallows against a sudden lump in his throat. It won’t be necessary to finish him tonight it seems. Not that he can say with absolute certainty he would’ve been chosen again, but still he had hoped… 

“Please, sir, if you could come with me?”

Theon starts when the woman from before speaks lowly into his ear, smiling invitingly when Theon gazes up at her in confusion. Having no idea what it is she could want Theon throws Jon, lounging relaxedly on the table, a last glance. He’s laughing about something Olyvar has said, eyes heavy and cheeks a lovely red. I’ll see you next week, Theon promises, more to himself than Jon, and turns to go. His dick is still somewhat hard, uncomfortably rubbing against his trousers as he walks after the woman, out of the theatre and into the bar. But to his surprise she doesn’t stop there, she walks on through the corridors with Theon trailing behind her. Finally she stops, in front of a door labelled _Private._

She opens it, beckoning him in. “Someone will be with you shortly,” she says with another dazzling smile, pointing at a couple of plush chairs grouped around a small table. “Please do take a seat, sir.”

And with that she leaves Theon alone, closing the door behind her. He sits down in the nearest seat, looking around curiously. It’s a cosy room. The walls are adorned with surreal paintings, the floor is covered in a lush, thick carpet and it’s pleasantly warm without a discernible heat source. There’s a CD player on a dresser, and in one of the corners is a clothes rack with a scuffed messenger bag hanging from it, a pair of black sneakers standing to the side. It seems to be some kind of dressing room, Theon muses. He wonders what exactly he’s waiting for. He’s been here, hasn’t he? Even if he hasn’t done anything. That’s hardly his fault anyway, Jon coming before… Theon sighs, leaning forward and fiddling with his hands. He’s nervous. Whatever he’s been summoned to this room for, it can’t be anything good. 

He’s been waiting for over twenty minutes, shuffling his feet and pointlessly looking at his phone every other moment when finally the door opens. Theon straightens, ready for Olyvar or some other big shot to come at him, for whatever reason – and doesn’t believe his eyes when he sees who has come inside. Jon is wearing a fluffy bathrobe, damp hair curling around his face. He looks heated, as if just coming from a hot shower. Theon slowly gets to his feet, afraid this vision could dissolve any moment. Jon has his hands buried in his pockets, looking at the carpet as he leans against the closed door, one naked foot braced against the wood. 

“Hi,” he finally says, throwing Theon a glance from under his lashes, his cheeks colouring. 

“Hi,” Theon echoes dumbly. He can’t think straight, as if Jon’s appearance has eradicated every single thought he’s been capable of, along with basic bodily functions, like breathing, or blinking. 

Jon studies him in turn, one corner of his mouth slightly turned up. He doesn’t say anything else and the silence hanging between them starts to take Theon’s breath away. He wants to say something, anything, wants to tell Jon how beautiful he is, how perfect he looked tonight, wants to thank him for moving the show back to fit Theon’s schedule, wants to fall to his knees and beg Jon to let him touch him. He says neither of those things, just stands there like a fucking statue, unable to form a single coherent thought. And then Jon moves. 

He comes towards Theon purposely, a few quick steps until he’s standing mere inches away. His hands come up, hesitating before coming to lie on Theon’s stomach. Theon’s breath leaves him in a long, shuddery gush, muscles jumping as Jon’s fingers splay out, stroking him through his shirt, soft and haltingly. Jon keeps his gaze trained on his fingers, not looking up as he slowly starts to undo Theon’s belt. Finally it’s open, and then Jon does look up as he pulls the zip down with a jolt. 

“Sit down,” he says huskily. 

Theon does, grateful for the command. His knees are feeling weak, as if they won’t carry him much longer. With an inelegant slump he falls back into his chair, incredulously staring at Jon. For a moment Jon doesn’t move, just takes a deep breath, another, before he suddenly drops to his knees. He places his hands on Theon’s thighs, slowly pushing them apart. Theon feels dizzy, his breaths coming too shallow as Jon hooks his fingers through the loops of Theon’s trousers, giving a pull. Theon automatically lifts his hips until the trousers are off. His cock is straining against his briefs, a wet spot showing in the black fabric from before, and Jon slowly exhales, closing his eyes for just a moment – before he leans forward, mouth closing over the outline of Theon’s cock. 

“What…” Theon starts weakly, but Jon just shakes his head, starting to trail kisses along the length. It feels amazing, even through the fabric, but the feeling is nothing compared to the way it _looks_. Jon’s eyes are still closed, a tiny little crease forming between his eyes as if he’s concentrating hard on what he’s doing. He takes his time, and Theon’s briefs are thoroughly soaked when Jon pulls back. His chest is heaving, mouth red and wet, and when he finally opens his eyes they are darker than the warm brown Theon had noticed before. He reaches up, slowly trailing a finger over Theon’s dick, making him jump. 

“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” Jon says, and with that he pulls the damp fabric down and wraps his fingers around Theon’s cock. 

“God,” Theon whispers, as Jon gives him a couple quick strokes before he leans in, eyes falling shut as he takes the head into his mouth. It beats any fantasy Theon’s ever had, including the ones about Jon. It’s more perfect than Theon could’ve imagined it, the sight of his cock vanishing between Jon’s plush, pink lips as he slowly takes him down further. Theon watches open-mouthed, hands clawing into the armrests of his seat as Jon takes him deeper, too deep; he heaves and pulls off a little. His mouth is wet and so hot, and when he goes in again he makes a noise deep in his throat, a tiny moan that nearly causes Theon to fall. The fingers of Jon’s left hand dig deep into Theon’s thigh, his other hand still wrapped tightly around the base of Theon’s cock. He pulls off again, breathing in deeply before tilting his head. 

“Fuck, _yes!_ ” Theon groans when Jon starts placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his length, ending with a sucking kiss to the tip. Theon’s head falls back, eyes involuntarily slipping closed for a second when Jon’s tongue licks over the slit, dipping in for just a moment before Jon takes him deep again, swallowing him down. His grip on Theon’s thigh tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but Theon barely feels it as Jon’s throat constricts around him. Jon heaves, and Theon just wants to pull back when Jon suddenly looks up, directly into Theon’s eyes. He starts bobbing his head, quickening the pace, the suction increases and Theon can feel himself being raced towards the edge. 

Jon is breathing fast and hard through his nose, black eyes boring into Theon’s and suddenly he pulls back until just the tip of Theon’s cock remains in his mouth. He sucks once more, hard, his lips a delicious pressure around the head and suddenly it’s too much. Theon’s body tenses, arching off the chair and deeper into Jon’s mouth. He cries out as his come starts gushing out of him, filling that perfect mouth. And Jon takes it all, throat moving again and again, until the last drop is swallowed and Jon moves back, loosening his hold on Theon’s softening dick before letting go entirely. He sits back on his heels, visibly catching his breath as he watches Theon with a strange expression in his eyes. 

Slowly Theon straightens, tugging his soft dick away. He can’t take his eyes off Jon, his plump, reddened mouth, the hazy look in his eyes. Not knowing what to do Theon clears his throat. 

“This was…”

“Good?” Jon half smiles, seeming incomprehensibly shy. “I didn’t… that was my… nevermind.”

“Your what,” Theon says, a suspicion dawning on him. “Your first time giving head?”

Jon blushes up to his ears but he nods, getting to his feet in a fluid motion. 

“But…” Theon stares at him, feeling absolutely bewildered. “Why? Why _me_?”

“A thank you.” Jon tightens the belt of his bathrobe, shifting uncomfortably. He’s hard, Theon notices with a start. Jon drives a hand through his hair, giving a little sigh. “What you did… no one ever did anything like this for me. I’ve been doing the show for over a year now and you…” He shrugs. “You’re something else.”

Theon stands up too, making a step towards Jon. He watches him coming, eyebrows gathering, but he doesn’t move away. Theon stops just before he touches Jon, raising his hand slowly. When Jon shows no sign of turning away Theon takes a silky curl, wrapping it around his finger. 

“You were amazing,” he says quietly. “Thank you for that. Can I… I mean, do you want me to…”

Jon looks up at Theon, nodding once. His face is very near, lips slightly parted, his eyes shining in his flushed face. Theon has never wanted to kiss anyone so badly. He’s almost there, lips almost touching Jon’s when he suddenly remembers Olyvar’s words. Jon doesn’t want to be kissed. 

And with a heavy feeling of regret Theon tilts his head, brushing Jon’s jaw with his mouth, wandering to his neck. He latches onto the skin there, softly, not hard enough to bruise, as his free hand dives between the folds of Jon’s bathrobe. He finds his hard length, warm flesh throbbing in his palm. Jon groans, tilting his head to the side and Theon answers by pressing kisses all over Jon’s skin. He strokes Jon’s dick with sure moves, driving his hand over the head with a slight twist and Jon gasps, hands fisting in Theon’s shirt as he spills over Theon’s hand with a strangled cry. 

Theon lets go slowly, taking a step back to give Jon some space. Jon is still tense, breathe coming in quick, flat huffs. His eyes are closed and he sways a little before he sighs, shoulders sagging. He opens his eyes, looking at Theon with a smile that’s so beautiful Theon wants to capture it forever. 

“See you next week,” Jon says, and with that he leaves Theon alone, feeling strangely empty, doubting if it happened, fearing all of this had been nothing but the best dream of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know if any of you have seen the ask I answered on tumblr. I did a mini thing where Jon takes on a pledge to save Theon from being executed. Turns out there's more to it than a mini ficlet for an ask prompt, and I wanted to ask if there's someone here who'd talk to me about it. Set in canon but huge divergence, like, not GoT happens but other stuff in the same world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Tuesday again, Theon's new favourite day of the week :D

It’s as if Tuesday is the only day left making sense in Theon’s life. The rest of the week passes in a bland haze, consisting of nothing but work, eat, sleep – and fantasizing about Jon. Theon still isn’t sure what actually happened there in that room, and how it could’ve come to it. He repeats the few words Jon has said over and over in his head, trying to make sense of them, to detect hidden meanings behind them. It’s been Jon’s first time sucking someone off. That and the fact that all Jon does at the club is getting stimulated in front of an audience… Theon knows there are enough guys who do gay stuff for money, has seen enough videos on pornhub, and why the hell not? You don’t have to be gay to like something up your arse. 

But getting hard from sucking cock is a whole different affair. Theon remembers how hard Jon had been, how - in hindsight - he enjoyed doing that to Theon. If Jon is into men… Theon hadn’t actually considered that possibility before last Tuesday, had thought Jon to be in it purely for the presumed paying-off of whatever obscure debt his family may have with Baelish. But this, Jon so blatantly enjoying it… it’s a game changer, prompting an entirely new set of fantasies. Having Jon, not in the club but home in Theon’s bed, having him there every day of the week, being able to touch him, slowly, exploring his body…

It’s, of course, completely ridiculous, and Theon sharply reminds himself that one single blowjob doesn’t have to mean Jon is into men, and it very well doesn’t mean he’s into _Theon._ Maybe he really just wanted to say thank you. The show is his job, for whatever reason, and if Jon does that he’d probably agree to do other stuff, take on clients, if he were into it. It’s stupid to dream of getting more than Theon already got. Jon would surely have said anything if he wanted more, which didn’t happen. And yet Theon can’t help but dream. 

Tuesday comes around, dragging worse than the last, but eventually Theon arrives at the club and is once again beckoned into the theatre ahead of anyone else. The same pattern from last week repeats, with Olyvar checking first to make sure Theon is there. And then the moment Theon has waited for a whole fucking week happens: Jon comes out, towel wrapped around his waist, beautiful and perfect. His eyes search for Theon immediately, and when their gazes lock Jon smiles, just a tiny, shy smile that has Theon’s chest tighten. Theon smiles back, relieved Jon is still in on whatever this thing between them is. 

“Let the show begin,” Olyvar says with more than a hint of impatience. He’s standing next to Jon, barely able to repress an eye roll when Jon finally deigns to lose his towel and clambers onto the table. It’s the third time now that Theon sees the show, but it hasn’t lost any of its appeal. He can’t get enough of it, all of it. Jon’s body writhing in pleasure, muscles jumping when Olyvar presses into the right spot, his face heated, mouth hanging open, eyes glazing over when the stimulation gets too much, guttural cries when Olyvar’s fingers drill deep into him. And then Jon suddenly emits a choked scream, three fingers stretching him further, more than Theon has seen him taking yet. 

This is new, unexpected, but Jon doesn’t seem surprised by it, only overwhelmed. His back arches, shoulders hunching, fists hitting the table as he rears back, as he cries out and stiffens before he makes a single, harsh sound. Immediately Olyvar’s fingers stop moving, staying motionless for a moment before sliding out of Jon with a slick sound. Jon is panting hard, body taut as a bowstring, and Theon just can’t decide where to look. Jon’s face is as beautiful as ever, droplets of sweat on his brow and his lip swollen from where he’s bitten down on it. His perfect buttocks are clenching, his hole red and looking sore. 

Now Olyvar should get the vibrator, should fuck Jon with it until he either comes or has enough, but no toy appears. Instead Jon lifts his head, saying something Theon can’t make out to Olyvar. Who nods curtly, and raises his head – looking at Theon. 

“If you were so kind to join us down here, sir,” he says, and this time Theon doesn’t need to be asked twice. He stumbles through the row, trying not to look at all the exposed dicks he passes until he’s on the stairs and finally down on the stage. Olyvar comes towards him, smiling tensely. 

“He wants you to do the rest. Please, please, _please_ don’t botch this, okay?” He plasters on his wide show smile, turning to address the audience. “Jon has agreed to letting this good sir carry on today. If it goes well, maybe this will be a new item on the agenda from now on – and you never know, next time it might be you!”

“Bloody likely,” Theon hears Jon mutter into his towel. He has to suppress a smile at this mutinous statement, quickly taking the two steps over to the table. Jon’s head is turned to the side, dark eyes glittering as he looks up at Theon with a tiny smile. “Hi again,” he says lowly. “I dunno… how do you want to do it?”

“Any way you like,” Theon promptly answers. “I mean… I’ll do anything you want?”

“Anything? Hmmm…” Jon appears to be thinking hard. “I guess it’d be a good start if you’d touch me, yeah?”

God, _yes…_ Theon’s hands are on Jon with nearly indecent haste, eliciting a chuckle from him, and then a low groan when Theon lets his hands slide from Jon’s sides up to his shoulders, digging the heels deep into the muscles. Jon hums when Theon starts to knead, tension slowly flowing out of him. Encouraged, Theon moves his hands lower again, until his fingers splay out over the perfect globes of Jon’s arse. Jon shifts, pulling up one knee and exposing his still slicked hole. Theon swallows, wondering if he’s allowed to go there. Cautiously, he moves his thumbs between the cheeks, spreading them slightly. Jon inhales sharply, but his hips lift off the table, and that’s really all Theon needs in terms of consent. 

He lets one thumb slide in, nearly losing his barely kept countenance when tight heat surrounds the digit. Jon gasps, moving back against Theon’s hand. Theon shivers, pressing deeper into Jon just once before he pulls out completely. He smiles, a little shakily, when Jon promptly lifts his head to give Theon a questioning look. 

“Turn around if you like,” Theon tells him. “I want to do this right.”

Jon does, stretching out his glorious body under Theon’s greedy eyes. His dick is rock hard, resting against his flat belly. Jon moves one arm behind his head, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Theon tsks at so much impatience, and as much as he wants it he ignores Jon’s dick for now. Instead he places his hands on Jon’s chest, marvelling at the feeling of soft skin and hard muscles. The stiff nipples are rubbing against his palms and Jon gasps when Theon rakes his fingers down to his stomach, muscles jumping. Theon takes a deep breath. His dick has been hard since he’s walked into the building, but that isn’t important now at all. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Theon mutters, and Jon’s dick twitches, leaking a droplet of precome onto his stomach. Theon bends to lick it off, mapping Jon’s stomach with his lips and tongue. Jon tastes good, clean and of fresh sweat, and finally Theon can’t hold back anymore. He wraps his right hand around Jon’s dick and gently licks over the head. Jon’s mouth falls open, his eyes closing as Theon slowly takes him in. He closes his eyes as well, wanting to concentrate on this. He’s never been really adapt at giving head, not having done it too often, but for Jon… 

With his free hand Theon reaches lower, gently cupping Jon’s balls. Jon’s dick twitches in Theon’s mouth, almost making him choke. He pulls back just a little, tongue teasing the slit and lapping up another tiny wave of liquid while he gently tugs at the balls in his hand. Jon’s hips lift off the table, and Theon uses the chance to let his hand slip further, moving between Jon’s cheeks. Theon takes a deep breath, swallowing Jon down further as he slides one finger into Jon’s body. Jon cries out hoarsely, throwing his head back when Theon finds the right spot. He presses against it firmly, all too conscious of the sounds Jon makes, of how incredible it feels to touch him like this. 

He nearly forgets about Jon’s dick in his mouth, forgets about his own cock throbbing in his pants, lost in the need to make this good for Jon, when suddenly Jon cries out, thrusting deep into Theon’s mouth. His orgasm comes as a surprise and Theon nearly chokes on the hot come filling his mouth without warning. He swallows it all, finger slipping into Jon just a little bit further, and all of a sudden a hand is in his hair, gripping tightly as Jon continues to jolt, his moans almost sounding pained. Theon pulls off, taking a deep breath as he removes his finger. Jon is breathing hard, his stomach almost concave with it. His eyes are wide open, cheeks red, and he’s staring at Theon as if he’s some kind of vision. Theon stares back, unable to look away, when he suddenly becomes aware of a loud noise. 

He tears his gaze away from Jon, looking around – and feels himself blushing as hard as Jon. The audience… Theon’s completely forgotten he was being watched, but now he slowly starts to grin when another round of applause rips through the room. He bows his head, just a little, and on the table Jon chuckles throatily. Theon’s gaze is drawn back to him. Jon is sitting up, hands loosely hanging between his legs and covering his softened dick. His hair is a mess and his lips look bitten, and Theon once more wishes fervently he could just bury his hands in the silky curls and take Jon’s mouth, taste him like this, too, learn to know what those plump lips would feel under his… 

“Thank you very much for your stunning performance, sir!” Theon flinches when a hand lands on his shoulder. Olyvar doesn’t look at him, turning towards the audience for his usual farewell. But when the men start to leave he lowers his voice so that only Theon can hear him. “I guess you want to take care of that…” He points at the visible bulge in Theon’s trousers, and Theon shifts uncomfortably. He’s forgotten about that, too. “Do you think you can meet me at the bar once you’re done? I have something important to discuss with you if you don’t mind.”

Theon turns to look at Jon questioningly and finds him looking back, giving an almost indiscernible nod. “Sure,” Theon says. “I’ll be there. This shouldn’t take long anyway,” he adds, gesturing to his predicament while raising an eyebrow at Jon. Jon actually blushes some more at that, but he shrugs, his face the picture of innocence. And with a last, tiny smile he hops off the table, gathering his towel from the floor. He hesitates for a moment, already at the curtain, looking back at Theon. 

“Think about it, okay?” he says before he finally vanishes. 

“Think about what?” Theon asks Olyvar, looking after Jon confusedly.

“Just go and have your wank,” Olyvar says, rolling his eyes. “Sir,” he adds when Theon turns to glare at him. “I’ll tell you once you’re able to think with your brain.”

***

He’s been right; it doesn’t take long at all. Theon’s dick is leaking before he’s even made it into a private booth, before he’s got it out of his pants. Another pair ruined… and totally worth it. Theon grips his cock tightly, conjuring Jon before his mind’s eye, naked and beautiful and moaning. He remembers the feeling of Jon’s arse tight and hot around his finger, imagines how it would feel if he ever were to feel the same around his cock. And that’s all it takes, a few hasty strokes and Theon spills over his hand with a bitten-off moan that might’ve been Jon’s name. 

Cleaned up and on slightly shaky legs he emerges into the bar, where Olyvar is already waiting in one of the comfortable leather chairs grouped around little tables. On his way over Theon orders a beer from one of the girls flitting about before he slumps down next to Olyvar with a sigh. 

“That really was quick,” Olyvar says with a grin, raising his bottle of water in a mock salute. “I do get it though. When I started working with Jon I regularly exploded in my clothes until the boss threatened to take them out of my paycheck.”

“And then you got used to it?” Theon asks sceptically. He doesn’t think he could ever get used to the marvel that is Jon.

“Not used to it per se.” Olyvar shrugs. “But it’s work, and since Jon always firmly declined anything outside of that theatre… he’s not into men, generally. I very much am, exclusively, so there’s no point in pining.”

Not into men… Theon’s known that on some level, has expected that much. It still stings, to hear it said out loud like that. 

Olyvar studies Theon’s face with a light smile. “Don’t look so disappointed. I think since you appeared on the scene he’s been reevaluating a few things about his preferences. Asked me to give him three fingers tonight, all of his own accord. And I have to say that was quite something, wasn’t it?”

Theon only nods, taking a sip from his beer that has arrived in the meantime. 

“Not that he told me why, mind. His Highness isn’t a man of many words.” Olyvar tilts his head, studying Theon curiously. “He did say something to you tonight, didn’t he? Not that I want to be nosy…”

“Wasn’t much,” Theon says, mind wandering to the sound of Jon’s voice, talking… moaning…

“Anyway, he did say enough to answer my questions,” Olyvar continues. “So here’s the deal: I haven’t had a bloody vacation since we started the show. Jon won’t let anyone else do it, and the boss is adamant we never miss a performance.”

“That’s...shit?” Theon says sympathetically, having no idea what any of this has to do with him. 

“It’s shit alright.” Olyvar sighs. “Especially since there’s someone I haven’t seen in a fucking long time… He’s a big shot in his home country and can’t come here too often. He’s invited me to visit him over and over again, and I always had to decline or I would’ve lost my job here.”

“That sucks,” Theon says, getting slightly impatient. “But I honestly don’t know why you’re telling me that. I fear I can’t do anything to help.”

“Oh, don’t you?” Olyvar grins ominously. “But before I tell you why I’m burdening you with my woes here, let me ask you a few crucial questions.” He waits for Theon to nod before he continues. “First. What do you expect from coming here every week? What do you expect from Jon?”

Theon stares at Olyvar, not knowing how to respond to that. “Nothing,” he eventually mutters. “I mean, of course I’m hoping I get to touch him again. Tonight was amazing. But I don’t _expect_ anything to happen. I guess I’m just an idiot who’s happy if he can gawk at a pretty boy once a week.”

“Hm.” Olyvar’s gaze seems to x-ray Theon to his very core. “Okay, second. What did you think of tonight’s show, when you were with Jon on the stage? Did it bother you to know you’re being watched?”

“Ha,” Theon makes, embarrassed. “You won’t believe me, but I actually completely forgot we’re not alone. Me and Jon, I mean. I don’t think it would’ve bothered me either way to be honest. It’s his job, right? It’s not as if it has been an intimate moment between me and my boyfriend or something of the sort.”

“Interesting… which brings me to my third question.” Olyvar folds his hands, giving Theon a shrewd look. “Do you have a partner at the moment? Boyfriend, girlfriend, significant other? You’re not married, are you?” he adds with a quick look at Theon’s bare ringfinger. 

“God, no.” Theon laughs awkwardly. “I don’t think I’m the marriage type. I’m single.” Theon leans back, swallowing the last few sips of his beer. “Would you _please_ tell me where you’re getting at with these questions now?”

“Don’t stress me or I won’t tell you anything.” Olyvar grins at Theon’s frustrated groan, lifting his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m actually surprised you didn’t find out by now. Well, be that as it may… I’m going to Dorne for an extended holiday on Saturday. For three weeks.”

“I thought you can’t take a holiday? You just told me–”

“Good gods, you two deserve each other.” Olyvar groans, kneading the bridge of his nose as if he’s having a headache. When he speaks again, he talks very slowly. “I’m asking you to replace me in the show for as long as I’m gone.”

“You… what?” Theon thinks he must’ve misheard. Olyvar can’t mean… he can’t _actually_ mean… 

“If you say yes, you’re going to work with Jon for the next three Tuesdays. You’re going to massage him, touch him, and give it to him so good the audience will cream their pants just by fucking _looking_ at him.” Olyvar leans forward, accentuating every word. “Do. You. Want. To. Do. This?”

“You’re kidding me. This is a joke, right? A fucking cruel joke, I mean – you can’t – but, I mean…” Theon is aware he’s stammering like an idiot, but his mind is spinning so fast he barely can form a coherent thought. “But what – has Jon – did he…” Theon takes a deep breath, trying to focus. “Is he okay with that?”

“Yes,” Olyvar says very slowly. “Jon is okay with that. Tonight was to see if you get the jitters when so many eyes are on you… that and His Highness is a greedy little monster and can’t wait until he’s off the clock to – nevermind.” Olyvar shakes his head with a long-suffering sigh. “So, can I please go and book my fucking flight? If I don’t get my man’s dick fucking _yesterday_ I’ll murder someone.”

“Yes,” Theon hears himself say, feeling as if someone’s clobbered him over the head. Is it actually real? “Yes,” he repeats, “yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes!!!_ ”

“Thank fuck!” Olyvar is beaming all over his face, producing a bottle of champagne out of nowhere. He pours two glasses, holding one out to Theon and raising his own. “To you getting to touch Jon as much as you can handle for the next three Tuesdays, and to me getting my brains fucked out for three fucking glorious weeks!”

Theon swallows, clinking his glass against Olyvar’s. If this is a dream, he doesn’t want to wake up ever again. 

***

Theon leaves the club still in a daze. After agreeing to substitute for Olyvar, they’d had more champagne, and Olyvar had told Theon he’d be in touch tomorrow to schedule a meeting, _to show you the ropes._ Theon wonders if Jon will be there too, wonders what Jon is thinking about this whole business… He fumbles for his phone to order a taxi, not wanting to drive drunk and crash into a tree when he’s just agreed to the chance of a lifetime. Theon’s just holding the phone to his ear when someone suddenly melts out of the shadows of the parking lot, slowly walking over to him. 

“Hello?” a female voice says from Theon’s phone. He doesn’t hear it, staring at the man approaching him like a fata morgana. 

“Hey,” Jon says, and Theon hangs up the phone. 

“Hey,” he echoes dumbly. “Have you been… are you waiting for me?”

“Hm.” Jon shrugs. He’s wearing tight jeans and a black jacket with a plain white tee under it. His hair is tied back, which makes him look older, and very attractive. He’s got his hands buried in his pockets, giving Theon little side glances. “I guess I’m just curious… what did you say? To Oly’s proposal,” he clarifies when Theon looks at him questioningly. 

Oh. “I said yes,” Theon says, holding his breath when Jon’s face lights up with a beautiful smile. 

“Good,” Jon says with a little sigh. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to do it. Olyvar really needs a holiday. And a good dicking,” he adds with a grin. “Dude is getting _really_ cranky lately. 

“Huh.” Theon blinks, distracted by the word dicking coming out of Jon’s lovely mouth. “You’re really okay with that? Me being the one…”

“Yeah, sure.” Jon gives Theon another quick glance. “You obviously know what you’re doing, I mean… it was really good?”

“Good,” Theon says, all his usual eloquence having abandoned him once again. Shouldn’t he say something more interesting? Like, anything? _Ask him out,_ his stupid brain supplies, and Theon firmly tells it to shut up. That’s the last thing Jon needs now, some creepy fucker who can’t understand the difference between his job and his private life. He searches for something else to say, something innocuous. “I… have to get home,” he finally says lamely. “Work tomorrow, you know…”

“Yeah, me too.” Jon looks strangely crestfallen, but then he straightens, taking a couple steps until he’s right in front of Theon. “Thanks for agreeing to this,” he says, bending forward and grazing Theon’s cheeks with his lips. Theon’s heart stops; Jon’s scent is enveloping him, and it takes all the strength he has not to just grab him and kiss his breath away. Maybe that’s the intention behind it, maybe Jon has noticed how much Theon wants it… And now he wants to make sure Theon can stay professional, can focus on the job. Theon stays still, refusing to blow this. “Here’s to a successful cooperation then,” Jon says lowly, lingering for a moment before he pulls back. He’s blushing up to his ears, eyes cast down. “See you soon.”

“I can’t wait,” Theon says quietly, watching as Jon gives a little wave and turns to go, leaving Theon with a vague feeling of having missed something important. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it seems all of Theon's three braincells have taken a leave of absence. Maybe they'll return once he gets to work closer with Jon... or maybe not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday, dear fellow people!

Come Saturday morning, Theon finds himself in front of a sketchy, run-down building downtown, not entirely sure if he’s at the right address. But when he rings, the door buzzes open immediately and he ventures inside, where a flustered Olyvar is already waiting in the hallway. “Sorry,” he wheezes, looking as if he’s just run a marathon. “I’m trying to pack, my flight goes in about five hours and I can’t find Oberyn’s favourite panties… come in, come in.”

Theon steps inside, eyebrows clambering up as he surveys Olyvar’s place. It looks like something out of the Moulin Rouge, a lot of red, a lot of velvet, a lot of frilly underwear littering the floor, the furniture… it’s everywhere, and Theon picks up one of the garments, a lacy number in dark blue, while he watches Olyvar diving headfirst into what looks to be a laundry basket. 

“What colour is it?” Theon asks, twirling the panty around his finger. 

“Red,” Olyvar’s muffled voice answers. “See-through. G-String… oh!” He surfaces, red-faced and with his usually neat blond hair standing up around his head like a halo. He laughs, reaching behind and into his jeans. “Bloody fuck, I’m an idiot. Already wearing them. Take a seat, don’t stand there like a solicitor. Do you want something to drink?”

“Sure.” Theon shoves a corset and a bundle of stockings aside to free some space on the couch, sitting down. 

“Iced tea?” Olyvar grins upon Theon’s nod, vanishing from the room. “I make a very good iced tea, you’ll see.” 

Theon looks around, studying the room he’s in more closely. There are lots of statuettes of naked men, a bookshelf filled to the brim with what look to be exclusively erotica, and even the light has a reddish touch to it. Frankly, this place looks more like a brothel than Baelish’s palace. O’s secret lair, Theon thinks with a grin, only without any obvious hints at BDSM. But then he has no idea what Olyvar is hiding in his boudoir, so. The doorbell starts Theon out of his thoughts, and promptly Olyvar calls out from wherever he’s at. 

“Could you please?”

Theon gets to his feet, idly wondering how it could come to this in just three weeks, from Olyvar calling him sir – as one of the club’s VIP members – to Theon sitting in his flat waiting for iced tea and opening doors as if he’s doing it all the time. Still lost in his musings, Theon presses the buzzer and opens the door – and feels his face derail when he sees who’s coming in from the street.

“Hi again,” Jon says, blushing prettily, but somehow he seems not in the least surprised to see Theon instead of Olyvar. He struts inside, toeing his shoes off and neatly placing them against the wall before he walks into the living room. Where he promptly takes Theon’s previous spot on the couch. Theon follows slowly, freeing a large armchair from another tangled heap of panties and garter belts before sitting down awkwardly, all his cool gone again the minute he laid eyes on Jon.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” Olyvar says as he enters the room, carrying a tray with three glasses. “We need to get this over with quickly, gentlemen. I have a plane to hop on to.” 

“You have a dick to hop on to, you mean,” Jon says, accepting his glass of iced tea with a nod of thanks. “Did you already start?”

“Nope, he just came here.” Having given Theon one of the glasses Olyvar slumps down onto a richly embroidered pouf, crossing his legs. “Alright, before I get down to the technicalities, does one of you have any general questions concerning this arrangement?”

Theon shakes his head, all too aware of Jon’s eyes on him. So far everything is clear, go to the club on Tuesday, do the show, go home, try not to bite through his pillow when the need to have Jon in his bed gets too overwhelming. He looks up, glancing over at Jon who quickly looks away, blushing again. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to address the audience, at least a few sentences,” Olyvar tells Theon. “Nothing too dramatic, just like I usually do. You know, welcome to the show, give Jon some applause to raise his spirits and other body parts, et cetera.” Olyvar grins, ducking when Jon throws a balled-up stocking his way. “Nothing but the truth, darling.”

Theon watches their easy bantering, Jon’s teasing smile, and suddenly he wants this too, not just Jon’s body but being his friend, making him laugh like that, completely at ease and comfortable. They’ve known each other for some time, Jon and Olyvar, are working together very intimately… it makes sense that Jon feels relaxed with him, but Theon can’t quite repress the sudden, ridiculous jealousy. 

“So, if that’s no problem..?” Olyvar looks at Theon questioningly. 

“Yeah, sure. Totally. No problem, I mean.” Theon winces at his own rambling. He sounds like a complete idiot, and now Jon is looking at him _again._ It makes Theon feel hot all over. 

Let’s get to the main part, then.” Olyvar claps his hands together imperiously. “You know what we do on stage, yeah? You start slowly, touch Jon, get him relaxed. He tends to be too stiff at the beginning. Or he used to be.” At that Olyvar winks at Jon, who immediately turns a darker shade of red, avoiding Theon’s gaze. 

Olyvar tuts at him before turning back to Theon. “Lube him up well, if it’s too dry he’ll bitch for days afterwards.” Jon makes a protesting noise that Olyvar ignores. “And then… well, I don’t think I have to explain to you how to do the rest, you’ve seen it - and done it - yourself. If Jon is up for it, continue with the vibrator until he’s either done or doesn’t want any more. Or,” he grins at Theon, “you’ll pull your little blowjob stunt again. Audience seemed to like it.”

“Who wouldn’t like seeing him like that,” Theon mutters, earning a glance from Jon so hot it makes his stomach plummet. Olyvar is still talking but Theon isn’t listening anymore, lost in Jon’s gaze. It gets more intense by the second and Theon’s cock starts to thicken as Jon’s lips part, his tongue flitting out and wetting them. Jon turns, ever so slightly, facing Theon, his eyes are getting darker as his pupils dilate, his hands on his thighs tightens almost unnoticeably. Blood rushing loudly in his ears Theon leans forward, his breath coming faster…

“HELLO!!!” Olyvar hollers, startling Theon out of his trance. Jon blinks, looking apologetically at Olyvar, who’s rolling his eyes. “Look, I don’t have time for this, okay? I have to finish packing and drop off my keys with my neighbour, so could you _please_ postpone the eye-fucking until we’re done here?” 

Jon ducks his head, looking like a scolded boy, and Theon’s chest tightens longingly. The things he’d do to him if he just had the chance… Olyvar groans, and Theon tells himself to focus before the poor guy starts crying. 

“I’m all ears,” he says consolingly. 

Olyvar shoots him a wry look. “I hope so,” he mutters. “Because here comes the most important part. _Jon, are you listening_?” Theon looks at Jon just in time to see him averting his eyes again, shifting in his seat and nodding sheepishly. “Good,” Olyvar says. “This is important for _both_ of you morons. We’ve been working together for a long time and I’m tuned in to Jon’s body language, I know which sound means harder, or less pressure, or stop. But we can’t expect Theon to know all that instinctively. I’m sorry, darling,” he says to Jon, “but I fear you’ll have to use your words.”

At that Jon’s shoulders slump forward; he buries his face in his hands, making a strangled noise. Theon watches him in surprise, having no idea what’s wrong. 

Olyvar laughs, cocking his head at Theon. “He was impossible when we started our routine. Couldn’t bring himself to utter a single word, just grunted at me like a very sexy cave troll. I had to guess my way through the first time and there were moments where I had no idea if he’s enjoying himself or if he’s in pain. Thank fuck I’m very talented with my hands.”

“Fuck off,” Jon groans into his palms before he reemerges, red-faced and flustered, but smiling. “I’m going to try, okay?” He peers at Theon, eyes crinkling at the corners as the smile widens. “We’ll get this done. Stop worrying, Ol. Go pack.”

“One more thing,” Olyvar insists. “Theon, you’re not getting paid. I tried, but the boss said only if I pass on _my_ paycheck and… sorry, I just can’t do that. I owe you one, though. Whatever you want, if it’s in my powers to give it to you, just say the word.”

Theon stares at Olyvar as if he’s just grown horns. Getting paid? The thought would never even have crossed his mind. Getting the chance to do this… “Hell, I’d pay you if you asked me to,” he blurts out, looking over at Jon – who flinches visibly, and Theon hastens to explain. “Not like for a… for a… just, like… like you say you’d give your right arm for something?”

At that Jon does look so relieved it’s all Theon can do to stay put and not fall to his knees in front of him to beg his forgiveness for the stupid phrase. It’s not like that, at all. That’s not how he sees Jon, and Theon really hopes Jon doesn’t see him like a client either. They’re something like colleagues now, for the next three weeks at least, and at the end of that… Maybe Jon’ll be so overwhelmed by Theon’s skills he’ll want it off the stage too… Olyvar gets to his feet, snapping Theon back to reality, where Jon isn’t gay and Theon is once again building castles in the air. 

Olyvar accompanies them outside, dismissing them with a cheery, “Don’t fuck this up or I’ll strangle you both!” before he slams the door shut. For a moment Theon and Jon both just stand on the sidewalk awkwardly, until Theon clears his throat. 

“Are you – do you need a ride somewhere?”

“No, thank you. I don’t live far from here and the weather is nice… I’ll walk.” Jon rubs the back of his neck, glancing over at Theon. “Do you live very far away?”

“Uptown,” Theon says. “Near Main Street. My company is paying for it,” he adds when Jon whistles. “It’s not like I could afford it just like that.”

Jon hums, shuffling his feet. “Alright,” he finally says. “I have to… got places to be.” And yet he makes no move to actually go away, instead burying his hands in his pockets, taking a deep breath. “Do you think…” Jon glances at Theon from under his lashes. “Could you make it to the club fifteen minutes early on Tuesday? So I can show you the… the backstage area?” He blushes furiously, as if he’s said something really dirty. 

“Sure,” Theon says, suddenly unable to keep from reaching out. He grazes Jon’s hand with his fingertips, waiting for him to look up. When he does, Theon smiles. “The four fucking horsemen of the apocalypse couldn’t hold me back.”

***

Having left the last meeting half an hour before the end with a bullshit excuse about not feeling well, Theon arrives at the club at half past nine. He’s nervous, even more nervous than he was before he came to see Jon’s show for the second time, after having found out what it entailed. He enters the foyer, not sure where to go from there when he suddenly finds himself in the shadow of a tall, broad man, glaring down at him menacingly. Theon recognizes him, has seen his shaggy red head around the club on occasions. He’s a bouncer of some sort, looming about here and there to ensure everyone’s behaviour is blameless. Now he’s staring at Theon, cracking his knuckles ominously. 

“Er…hi?” Theon tries, smiling his most charming smile. “Did you want something?”

“Hmmm…” the guy makes, still staring, but then he seems to come to a decision. “Come on,” he grunts, and turns to go. Theon hurries after him, through a door labeled with _Staff_. Behind it there’s a hallway, and at the end of it another door. The man stops in front of it, turning to glare at Theon so threateningly he takes an involuntary step back. “If I hear the tiniest complaint about you from Jon, I swear I’ll kill you in a very painful way and make it look like an accident.”

“I believe you,” Theon says quickly. “I’ll do my very best, okay?” 

The man glares a bit harder, seeming to examine Theon’s very soul before he finally nods, seeming satisfied. He gives the door a sharp knock, opening it and manhandling Theon through. Theon stumbles, giving the door slamming shut in his back a bewildered look. 

“Sorry about that, he’s just got this soft spot for me” Jon’s voice says, and Theon turns to face him. He’s wearing the fluffy robe Theon has seen on him before, awkwardly standing in the middle of what seems to be another comfy dressing room. Theon notices a curtain, probably the one leading onstage. Jon’s clothes are neatly folded on a dresser, next to a heap of clothes seeming vaguely familiar. “Olyvar’s uniform,” Jon says when noticing Theon’s gaze. “Should fit you alright, he’s just a little… er… a little softer than you, I guess?”

“Right.” Theon feels a little stupid, standing there with no idea what to say or do. Jon doesn’t say anything else either, looking here and there and shuffling his feet. He looks so lovely, with his hair clouding around his face in soft curls and his red cheeks. Now he’s looking at a huge clock hanging on the wall, and Theon follows his gaze. Twenty minutes till they have to go out. “I guess I’ll get changed then,” he mumbles, making a step over to the dresser. 

“Good idea.” Jon finally looks at Theon, giving him one of those shy glances that never fail to make Theon’s heartbeat falter. He takes a hesitant step, another, until he’s standing in front of Theon. “I could help you with that?” he asks, reaching out and tapping one of Theon’s shirt buttons. 

Afraid his voice is going to fail him, Theon just nods, standing very still as Jon starts on the topmost button, slowly slipping it open. His fingertips graze the naked skin at Theon’s throat, sending goosebumps all over his body. Theon watches Jon undo one button after the other, feeling strangely detached, as if all of this was happening to someone else, like a hazy dream. Jon’s gaze is firmly trained on his hands, teeth worrying his lower lip as he concentrates on his task until the last button is open and Theon’s shirt falls apart. Theon exhales slowly, expecting Jon to step away, now that he’s done.

But Jon doesn’t. Instead he takes a deep breath and places his palms flat on Theon’s stomach. They’re warm, and heat floods Theon’s belly when Jon slowly starts to stroke up towards his chest, to his shoulders, fingers driving under the shirt and gently pushing it down Theon’s arms until it falls to the floor with a soft rustle. Theon shivers, not sure if it’s the sudden feeling of air on his naked skin – or Jon’s appreciative gaze as he takes a half step back, tilting his head. Theon waits, for what he couldn’t say. Somewhere in between he’s gotten achingly hard, and when he tries to shift discreetly Jon immediately looks down, lips quirking up at Theon’s obvious predicament. 

“Hmmm,” he makes, reaching out. Theon jerks when Jon’s fingertips stroke over the visible bulge; he gulps in a sharp breath. Jon bows his head as he starts to work the belt, deft fingers moving swiftly until the button is undone and the fly is open. He looks up the same moment he shoves down Theon’s trousers, pants and all, and Theon gasps as his cock springs free, spellbound by the look on Jon’s face. His mouth opens ever so slightly, eyes darkening when he crowds closer to Theon until their bodies almost touch. 

Jon tilts his chin up, moving in, and this time Theon doesn’t pull back. He wants this, wants this so much he can barely hold it together. Jon’s breath is ghosting over Theon’s lips; his face is so near all Theon can see are Jon’s eyes. And then Jon’s hand squeezes between them, fingers wrapping around Theon’s cock. Theon gasps, jerking into Jon’s hand with a stifled cry as Jon’s mouth brushes his jaw, so close, _so close…_ Jon starts to move his hand, giving Theon’s dick long, firm strokes. His mouth wanders from Theon’s jaw to his neck, hot puffs dampening his skin before Jon presses his lips against the pulse. 

Theon feels as if his bones are melting. Jon is everywhere, his hair in Theon’s face, his lips against his skin, one hand still stroking his length while the fingers of his other hand splay out on Theon’s hip, digging into the flesh. Theon moans as Jon starts to move faster, pressing his own erection against Theon’s thigh while he gently bites down on his neck, tongue lapping over the spot, and all of it is so good, so much, and with a strangled groan Theon buries his face in Jon’s hair, clutching his waist and pulling him close. Jon gasps, stiffening in Theon’s arm before he melts against him. He makes a quick move with his wrist and suddenly it’s _too_ much. Theon muffles his moans in Jon’s hair as he starts to come, dick pulsing and twitching and coating Jon’s hand and Theon’s belly. 

They keep still for another long moment, a moment Theon hopes could last forever. His soft dick is still resting in Jon’s sticky palm, and he can feel Jon’s dick pressing against him. Jon hasn’t moved his face away from Theon’s neck, gently nuzzling the skin with his lips. Cautiously, Theon moves his hand up Jon’s back, playing with the soft curls in his nape. He doesn’t want to disturb the moment, wants to keep holding Jon like this for just a little more.

“It’s almost ten,” Jon finally whispers. He disentangles himself from Theon and steps back, gazing up at him somewhat reluctantly. Theon can’t look away from his face, from his beautiful, dazed eyes and his plump, rosy mouth. He’s smiling, breath still coming fast and quick. His dick is tenting the front of his robes and Theon reaches out, grazing the hard length with his knuckles. 

“Do you want…”

“No time,” Jon mutters. “We have a performance to put on.” He fishes around in the pockets of his robe until he produces a packet of tissues and, after taking one for himself, offers the rest to Theon. “You should get dressed.”

“Did you…” Theon frowns when a sudden suspicion appears in his head. “You’ve been planning this. Did you think I wouldn’t make it otherwise?”

“Yes and no.” Jon bites his lip, giving Theon a shrewd look. “Not that I don’t have absolute faith in your...er… But, well… Olyvar always jerks off before we go out and…” 

Olyvar… what? Theon stares at Jon, not sure what to make of what he’s saying. Does he mean he watches Olyvar… or has even done _this_ to him? For a moment Theon can hardly breathe, raging jealousy clouding his mind, before he remembers what Olyvar had said. About Jon refusing any advances not happening on stage. But then why–

“You seemed so tense,” Jon says into Theon’s thoughts. He’s starting to sound a little flustered, cheeks heating up. “I thought – we don’t want you to – not before I’ve – and I thought – thiswouldbemorefunthandoingitaloneandIwan–” 

Theon shakes his head, quickly placing two fingers on Jon’s rambling mouth, shutting him up mid-word. “Alright, alright,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “But what about you?”

Jon peers down at his crotch, shrugging. “That’s your job,” he mumbles against Theon’s fingers. “Out there.” 

“Hm.” Theon takes his fingers back. Jon tilts his head expectantly and Theon sighs, then smiles. “I guess there are worse ways to relax.” He glances at the clock. One minute to ten. “Let’s do this then.”

“Let’s do this,” Jon echoes, picking up a towel. He weighs it in his hand, gazing at his hard dick before he shrugs. “Not sure if I’m going to need this. Would look ridiculous hanging from my… Hey.” He looks up, smiling so beautifully Theon’s breath catches. “I did it because I just fucking couldn’t wait.” And with that Jon turns to the curtain, looking back over his shoulder. “Which hasn’t really changed, so... hurry up, okay?” 

“Okay,” Theon says, quickly slipping into Olyvar’s clothes and joining Jon at the curtain. “I’ll go out first, yeah?”

“Yup. Good luck!” And with that Jon gives Theon a gentle shove and he stumbles outside, immediately blinded by the lights. The audience starts clapping, some of them cheering at Theon. 

“I knew there was something like this coming!”

“Why else would he be treated like royalty, right?” 

“Lucky bastard!”

Theon starts grinning, lifting a hand to regally wave at the gathered men in the theatre. “Welcome, welcome,” he calls, feeling the tenseness lifting from his shoulders as he goes through Olyvar’s usual spiel. This really isn’t that hard at all, in fact he quite enjoys the attention. “And now, gentlemen, please give a furious applause for the star of our show… Jon, would you like to join me?”

Theon doesn’t look behind himself when suddenly the men in the audience go crazy. He grins to himself. Seems like Jon decided he doesn’t need the towel after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to confess I still don't have an idea how long this is going to be. All I know is that I can't quite see the end yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Tuesday to you! 
> 
> Er... if this chapter is somewhat incoherent I apologize. Been having headaches terrorizing me and I'm still not sure if what I wrote here makes much sense. 🙈

It’s almost too easy, forgetting about the audience once Theon has turned around to face Jon. He’s a sight to behold, standing there naked and beautiful, raging boner jutting out from his body. He gives Theon an encouraging smile before he climbs onto the table, stretching out on his belly with slightly spread legs. He shifts a little, and without thinking about it Theon reaches between Jon’s legs, getting ahold of his dick and arranging it in a more comfortable position. Jon gives a tiny gasp, tensing for just a moment before he relaxes again. 

Theon lets his gaze wander over Jon, from his lovely buttocks up to his curls obscuring his face. Remembering the very first show he’s seen Theon smiles, reaching out to stroke them back, resting his hand on Jon’s neck. Jon peers up at him with a crooked smile, giving Theon the tiniest nod before he closes his eyes. Theon grins, letting his hand glide under the silky strands of hair, squeezing Jon’s neck slightly before he moves lower. With both hands Theon presses into Jon’s shoulders, kneading the muscles under his palms until Jon emits a low, content hum. His skin is soft, lightly golden as if he’s been in the sun, and then Theon can’t help it anymore. 

He bends down, placing a wet, open-mouthed kiss between Jon’s shoulder blades. Jon inhales sharply, but when Theon does it again, just a half inch lower, he makes a sound not unlike a purr. Smiling against Jon’s skin Theon works his way down the spine, hands roaming over Jon’s sides, fingers splaying out on his waist before they dig into the flesh. Jon tastes amazing, clean and with a hint of salt, and Theon just can’t stop. Lower and lower he lets his mouth wander, burying his nose in the small of Jon’s back, letting his tongue dip into the dimples above the round buttocks, and all the while Jon makes this lovely noise Theon can’t get enough of. 

He places a last little kiss on the spot just above Jon’s arse before he takes a step to the side, then to the foot end of the table. For a moment he just looks, dragging one finger down the crease and making the muscles jump. Theon hasn’t ever done this before, has never felt the urge to do so – he wants it now. He wants it so bad he can almost taste him already, and with a deep breath Theon reaches out, placing his hands on those perfectly shaped globes and gently pulling them apart. Jon jolts when the cool air hits his exposed entrance; he lifts his head just a little, giving Theon a questioning glance. Theon looks back, cocking an eyebrow at Jon – and bites his lip, slow and deliberate. A shudder goes through Jon at that, his head sinking down again. 

“Yes,” he says, low but clearly audible, and Theon bends down. 

It’s nothing like he would’ve imagined it, had he ever thought of doing that particular thing before. Salty, musky, a hint of soap. Jon. Concentrated and heady, perfect… The first swipe of tongue, from his soft balls to the top of the crease has Jon inhale sharply and for just a moment he clenches, before suddenly going completely lax. A murmur goes through the audience but Theon doesn’t care for them one bit, all his concentration on Jon. He does it again, licking a broad stripe upward, and this time his tongue catches and suddenly Jon emits a moan loud enough to drown out the blood rushing in Theon’s ears. 

_He likes it,_ Theon notes, strangely triumphant when Jon’s arse lifts off the table to meet his mouth, when Jon continues making little noises of pleasure that go straight to Theon’s cock. It’s overwhelming, the sounds, the smell, the taste of Jon on his tongue when Theon concentrates on the tiny hole, when he licks and sucks and nibbles, finally pressing past the barrier and inside. At that Jon cries out, spine arching, he starts moaning so desperately Theon has to press one hand against his straining cock to keep it from going off. He could do this forever, listen to Jon’s pleasure, making him fall apart just like this. 

But they’re not alone, the audience has paid a lot to see Jon getting stimulated with more than Theon’s tongue, and so he reluctantly breaks away. He grabs the bottle of lube he’s found in Olyvar’s pockets, generously coating his left hand while moving the fingers of his right up and down Jon’s cleft, eliciting little shudders from him. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Theon calls loudly, speaking to the audience. “I know that wasn’t part of the routine, but I guess I just couldn’t help myself there.”

“Relatable!” someone from the crowd yells, followed by a surge of applause and some whistles. 

“He seemed to like it,” someone else cries. “Hey, Jon! I’m good with my mouth as well!”

Theon could swear he can practically hear Jon’s eye roll, but luckily his hair is obscuring his face again. He takes a step nearer to him, speaking lowly. “Ready for the actual show?” 

“Less talking, more fingers.” Jon moves a little to the side, reddened face appearing when he strokes his hair back himself. “Don’t forget to – oooh!” 

He breaks off with a gasp when Theon slides two fingers into him to the hilt, immediately searching for the right spot and finding it. Jon groans, drawing one knee to his chest as Theon firmly massages his prostate. His hands close into fists and loosen again, flanks quivering as he starts to rock back against Theon’s hand. His dick is pulsing, smearing clear liquid where it is pressed against the towel covering the table. His breath is coming in flat, loud huffs, interspersed with bitten-off moans that make Theon’s cock jump. 

He needs Jon, needs him so badly, would do anything to take him right here, nevermind the audience, nevermind _anything…_ Theon’s own breathing gets harder, he tangles his free hand in Jon’s hair to ground himself. He lets his fingers slide out, only to push back in quickly. Jon cries out, whispering something Theon can’t make out. He does it again, a slick glide into Jon’s tight heat, and this time Jon nearly shouts it, just one word, repeating it again and again. 

“More... more, _more…_ ”

A shiver goes through Theon; he doubles his effort, drilling into Jon with two fingers, crooking them, spreading them inside him and Jon screams, fists hitting the table as he pants and gasps, as Theon fucks into him as hard as he dares. 

“Another,” Jon whispers, and Theon can’t repress a little moan as he lets a third finger join the others. Jon gives a strangled cry, rutting against the table, dick leaking onto the towel. Theon is sweating, his hand is starting to cramp and if Jon doesn’t stop it with those delicious sounds he’ll come in Olyvar’s pants, his cock is aching with need, stomach tightening – Jon arches off the table as Theon presses into him once again and then Jon stiffens, gushes of come staining the already sticky towel until he slumps down again, boneless and shivering. 

Something is ringing in Theon’s ears as he slowly removes his fingers from Jon’s quivering arse, wiping them on the towel. He looks up, dazed eyes wandering over the audience as he understands where the noise is coming from. They’re going nuts. Most of them are on their feet, cheering and yelling Jon’s name. A grin slowly starts to spread on Theon’s face as he lifts a hand, causing the applause to swell to a deafening roar. He’s still busy enjoying the ovations when suddenly a hand grabs Theon’s arm, and with a start he looks at Jon, already standing next to the table. His eyes are burning, lips looking swollen and red. 

“Come on,” he hisses, grip on Theon’s arm tightening when Theon doesn’t move immediately. “I said, _come...on!”_

Theon stumbles, barely managing to wave goodbye to the audience before he’s dragged behind the curtain where Jon shoves him against the dresser. Theon stares at him, at his heaving chest, throat working as he swallows, eyes glittering and nearly black. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what he’s done wrong to make Jon so angry… 

“I’m sorry,” Theon says haphazardly, trying to move back when Jon takes a step forward. “Did I do it wrong? Was it–” 

He breaks off when Jon’s hand shoots out, clutching at Theon’s hair. He pulls him in until they’re faces aren’t even an inch apart. Jon exhales in a huff, breath ghosting over Theon’s lips, he crowds closer, pressing his still naked body tightly against Theon. He’s hard again, his erection pushing against Theon’s hip. Theon holds his breath, unable to move a muscle. Jon’s eyes are huge, pupils dilated, his mouth is open, lips wet… 

“Fuck me,” Jon whispers hoarsely, and with a stifled moan Theon buries his face in Jon’s neck. 

He latches onto the soft skin, tasting fresh sweat, biting down as hard as he dares. Jon groans, shuddering against Theon, his grip on Theon’s hair tightening as he slings his free arm around Theon’s waist, fingers digging in his back. Theon’s hands move over Jon’s back, getting ahold of his arse and clutching it tight. His fingertips glide between the cheeks, still slick… Jon’s head falls to Theon’s shoulder, damp hot breath making Theon shiver. Jon’s hand dives into Theon’s pants, dragging it down until it falls to the ground. 

Theon cries out when the cool air hits him, when Jon takes a step back. “Fucking god…” 

Theon’s cock is so hard it hurts, and Jon immediately moves in again, rubbing himself all over Theon. Fearing he’ll come like this Theon noses along Jon’s neck, biting down on his earlobe.

“How…” he pants, crying out when Jon wraps one leg around Theon’s. “What do you…”

“I don’t care.” Jon’s head tilts back, exposing his throat, and Theon immediately covers it in wet, sucking kisses. 

“Fucking hell, _Jon_ ,” Theon murmurs when he lets his fingers slide lower, into Jon, ready and wet. “Hold on.”

And with that he spins them around, gripping Jon’s waist, and with a grunt Theon heaves him onto the dresser. He spreads Jon’s legs, exposing his hole. Jon leans against the wall, one hand coming down to stroke his dick as Theon pushes two fingers in, then three. 

“God, you’re – I could – straight–” Theon shudders, moving his fingers in and out, marvelling at how well Jon is taking them. 

“Yes…” Jon inhales audibly when Theon twists his hand, pressing against the right spot. “What… oh… what do you think I… wanted three for… if not… aaaah… _this!_ ”

Theon can’t take another second; with both hands he grabs Jon’s thighs, pulling him close. He takes his straining cock in hand, lining up, and then it hits him. It’s really happening… he’s going to get what he dreamed of, is going to know what Jon feels like wrapped around him… With an anguished gasp Theon pushes in, holding his breath when Jon cries out, not stopping, inch after inch of his cock driving into Jon until he’s fully inside. For a moment Theon doesn’t move, barely able to keep it together. And then _Jon_ moves, rocking his hips, wrapping both legs around Theon as he clings to his shoulders, incoherently groaning into Theon’s hair. 

He’s bloody heavy, and although the dresser Jon is propped against does carry part of his weight it’s still enough of a strain to make Theon grunt with the effort. He fucks into Jon as hard as he can, his thighs are shaking, his hands wrapped tightly around Jon’s waist. He’s clinging to Theon as if his life depends on it, rocking his hips to meet Theon’s thrust, and at every single one Jon cries out, driving Theon mad with need. He’s the one making Jon scream, he’s the one making him gasp and moan, it’s _his_ cock Jon takes so beautifully, so perfect it actually hurts. Theon doesn’t say anything of it, not wanting to ruin this, not wanting to let on how much this makes him feel. 

“Theon…” Jon’s voice is hoarse, choked, sending shivers down Theon’s spine when Jon murmurs into his ear. “I can’t – gods, I – it feels – aaah!” Jon rocks down hard, and all the dams break. 

“You’re doing so well,” Theon murmurs, pressing into Jon as deep as he can. “Just look at you, taking me so beautifully, so good, god…” Theon kisses Jon’s neck, his shoulder, any inch of skin he can reach as he doubles his efforts. “You’ve no idea how much I wanted this, wanted _you_ … can’t believe I really have… so perfect, Jon, look at you, so _good_ –”

Theon breaks off when Jon’s heels dig into his back, when Jon tenses against him with a choked sob, when warmth spills between them and Jon’s fingers tighten on his shoulders… Finally Jon goes lax in his arms, muffling tiny little moans Theon’s shoulder. He’s trembling, and for a long moment Theon keeps still, not knowing what to do. Maybe Jon is too sensitive, maybe it’s too much – but then Jon suddenly rocks down against Theon once more, arse clenching tight around his cock, and that’s all it takes for Theon to emit a harsh, short cry, his dick throbbing in Jon as he starts to come. 

It takes a while for the sparks to die down, but finally Theon takes a half step back, giving a little gasp as his soft, sticky dick slides out. Jon glides down from the dresser, stumbling when his knees give out. Theon catches him, holding him steady. Jon sniffs, looking up at Theon from under his lashes. 

“I think I need to lie down,” he says sheepishly, before he slowly lets himself sink to the carpet, back against the dresser. 

Theon carefully sits down beside him, noticing he’s still wearing Olyvar’s tee, now adorned with a wet, sticky stain on the front. “I think I owe Olyvar a new set of clothes,” he mutters. 

Jon gives him a look from the side, shifting gingerly. “I think I owe the boss a new carpet,” he says dryly, and then he starts to chuckle, burying his face in his hands. “But,” he says when he surfaces again, red-cheeked and grinning, “that was totally worth it.”

“Was this your first…”

“Mhm,” Jon hums, nodding thoughtfully. “I never thought I’d ever want – well, goes to show you should never say never I guess.”

 _Why me?_ Theon doesn’t say it out loud, in case Jon is asking himself the same. This feels like a dream, sitting here with Jon after… Theon quickly moves his hands in his lap where his dick is, impossibly, starting to come back to life. At least Jon isn’t looking, seeming rather lost in his thoughts. 

“So you… you liked it?” Theon cringes at his tone; it sounds like he’s fishing for compliments, which isn’t exactly true. 

“God, yes.” Jon’s eyes are closed, his face relaxed and serene. “I mean, I think I’ll be _very_ sore tomorrow, but on the other hand…” He turns his head, eyes opening to look at Theon, a small smile playing around his lips. “I don’t want to wait until next Tuesday to get this again.”

For a moment Theon can only stare at Jon, at his hot gaze, how he’s biting his lip… “You don’t have to wait,” he finally says. “I mean, if you want…”

“I want,” Jon murmurs. “I wasn’t sure you’d want it to.”

“I meant what I said,” Theon says earnestly. “I wanted you almost the moment I saw you. Never thought I’d actually get to… to…”

He trails off when Jon shifts to his knees, turning his whole body to Theon. He moves until he’s bracketing Theon’s thighs, kneeling over him with a determined look on his face. He grabs the tee Theon is still wearing, tugging until Theon gets the hint and quickly pulls it over his head, throwing it aside. Jon hums contentedly as he lets his hands wander over Theon’s chest, flicking the nipples with his thumbs and making Theon gasp in surprise and arousal. 

“We could,” Jon says before he bends his head to Theon’s neck, “meet here on Friday,” he sucks at the skin, “maybe at nine?” 

“Whatever,” Theon groans as Jon keeps attacking his neck, fingers teasing and pinching his nipples until he’s a shivering mess under Jon’s hands. “Whatever… wherever… I’ll be there.”

“Or…” Jon’s face changes, a strangely insecure expression flitting over it. “We could… somewhere else?” He moves against Theon’s hard cock with small undulations of his hips. “Somewhere with a – ooh – a real bed?” Jon asks, interrupting himself with a short moan when his dick slides against Theon’s. 

“I have a bed,” Theon whispers, fingers gripping Jon’s arse, pulling the cheeks apart and slipping a finger inside. 

Jon nearly screams; he bears down on Theon’s hand while wrapping his fingers around both their cocks. It’s too much, everything raw and sensitive, and yet Theon wouldn’t stop for anything in the world. He can barely see straight anymore, all he can see and feel and hear is Jon, and for the third time that night Theon’s vision shatters as he spills over Jon’s hand. He can hear Jon gasp, following a moment after, and then it’s over and Jon moves back, looking completely wrecked. 

Theon watches him as Jon slowly gets to his feet, swaying a little before he shakes his head, as if to come to his senses. He reaches out and Theon takes his hand, levering himself into an upright position. For a moment there’s awkward silence, then Jon clears his throat. 

“There are showers, if you want…” He angles for the robe he’d discarded before the show, wrapping himself in it. He seems strangely shy all of a sudden, not looking at Theon when he takes a step towards him. “I’ll see that they’ll provide a robe for you too next week, I’ll talk to Val or…”

“Jon?” Theon asks, reaching out to touch Jon’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… yeah, I’m fine.” Jon takes a deep breath. “You really want me in – to come to your place?”

Oh. Oh fuck. Theon curses inwardly, wishing he hadn’t said anything. Jon must think he’s some sort of pervert who doesn’t know where to draw the line… Desperate to put Jon at ease, Theon forces a laugh. 

“Ah, ha, well… I just said that because, you know, bed and all that… I mean, why would you want to come to a stranger’s place, right? You don’t know me at all, that’d be… daft?” Theon grins weakly. “I don’t really know you either, like, is Jon even your real name or is it your stage name?” 

He means it as a joke, but to his surprise Jon casts his eyes down, blushing up to his ears. “Actually… it’s not the name on my birth certificate.” He shrugs, giving Theon a quick glance. “But everyone calls me Jon. That’s been my name since I was a kid, so.”

“Will you tell me your birth name sometime?”

“Maybe.” Now Jon starts grinning, shoulders relaxing a little. “But it’s really embarrassing… maybe if you do that thing again you did today, out on stage. I liked that.”

“Did you now.” Theon can’t help but preen, just a little, under Jon’s appreciative gaze. “I think the audience liked it too, although they must’ve been miffed the show was so short today.”

“They’ll survive.” Jon buries his hands in his pockets with a sigh. “Next time maybe we should do this before the show, not after. It’s really strange… I never had a problem holding back when it was just me and Olyvar, and the occasional enthusiast to finish me off.” Jon makes a face. “Never liked that too much until… well.”

“Good plan,” Theon mutters, swallowing. “So… do you want to meet before that or…”

“Yeah, I’d like that. You don’t want me at yours, so we could meet here, get one of the rooms… what?” Jon stares at him like a startled deer when Theon groans out loud. 

“Of course I want you at mine. Are you kidding me? I wanted you there since… a while,” Theon finishes lamely. “I thought you don’t want to because you think I’m a creep.”

“Oh god.” Jon chuckles, looking immensely relieved. He drives a hand through his tangled curls, blushing again. “It’s not that, just… I don’t want to be…”

“I’d love you come to my place on Friday,” Theon firmly interrupts whatever it was Jon wanted to say. “I’m off at six. We could order something to eat or watch a movie if you like? Before…”

“Before,” Jon confirms, eyes gleaming. “Is that a date?” 

“If you want it to be?” 

“Hm.” Jon tilts his head, letting his gaze roam over Theon. “I’m game, if you promise to open the door like that.”

Oh. Right. He’s still naked. Theon quickly makes a grab for his clothes, and in seconds he’s dressed, turning back to Jon. 

“So, Friday at half past seven? My flat’s at Septon’s square off Main Street; number eight, block three, door nineteen. Just tell the doorman you want to see Theon Greyjoy and I’ll tell him to expect… er…”

“Aegon Targaryen,” Jon mutters, mouth twitching. “But I will kill you with my bare hands if you ever, _ever_ call me by that name. You tell him you’re expecting Jon or you’re in for a world of pain, got it?”

“Got it.” Theon grins, and this time it’s him moving forward, despite his qualms, and placing a lingering kiss on Jon’s cheek. “I can’t wait for Friday,” he says in his ear. “Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're looking at 3 more chapters, guys!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, apologies! I know I'm late by a day, mea culpa. Caught some stupid virus (not THAT virus) and have been feeling under the weather and - inexplicably - unable to write coherent porn. In the end the chapter turned out not that much porn after all 🙈🙈🙈 I hope you still like it.

For once, the day making Theon’s stomach churn and flutter comes fast instead of agonizingly slow. Before he knows it, Friday is already dawning on him. He goes to work, hardly realizing what he’s doing over the course of the morning. One of these days he’ll make a stupid mistake and be fired, all just because of one amazingly beautiful man. Not that it wouldn't be worth it, if it meant having Jon on a more permanent basis… but that’s still very much up in the air. If it’s in the cards at all. Maybe they aren’t compatible in real life, apart from the – mind-blowing – sex. Maybe Jon is simply confused by his new realizations about his sexuality. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s into Theon on a more… _romantic_ level. 

Theon isn’t even sure if _he’s_ romantically interested. Sure, Jon is lovely. He’s sweet and sexy and seems like a nice guy – not at all what Theon thought he’d be looking for in a long-term partner. And maybe Jon eats with his mouth open or they don’t like any of the same stuff or he turns out to be _too_ sweet… Theon sighs, giving up after mindlessly reading the same report page for the fifteenth time. It’s no use, musing about all those what ifs. If he gets to have Jon in his bed – who fucking cares about anything else? 

After writing a short email to his boss and informing him he’s off for today, Theon shuts his laptop and packs up. He can stay longer on Monday. On his way home he picks up his laundry from the dry cleaner’s and the order he’s placed with the deli yesterday. _A lot of effort for someone who’s just a fuck_ , Theon’s mind whispers, but he ignores it. Everyone likes crisp, fresh sheets. And nice clothes. And fluffy bathrobes for after… well. Also, it’s been ages since Theon’s had the pleasure of cooking for someone. His best friend back home had always liked the result on the seldom occasions when Theon had hurled out the pots and pans. 

Back at his place he starts with grating the different cheeses he’s bought. It’s tedious and exhausting, but then pre-grated cheese never melts as beautifully as when it’s done fresh. At least it keeps Theon busy. Once he’s grilled the chicken and set it aside to cool, Theon turns his attention to his flat. The living space looks decent enough, thanks to a cleaner coming twice a week, but since accidentally stumbling over Theon’s toy box she refuses to set foot in the bedroom, so he has to do that one himself. Half an hour later Theon looks upon his work, satisfied. The bed looks inviting and fresh, the rest of the room neat and comfortable. That’ll do. 

All that’s left to do is done quickly: calling the doorman to tell him Theon’s expecting company, setting the table, making sure the lights are suitably dimmed and the right music is ready to play, showering – and waiting. It’s half past five when Theon is done with everything, except the shower. Jon’ll be here in two hours, which means the pasta needs to go in at seven so he can put the mac and cheese into the oven to keep warm when Jon arrives – giving them a good half hour before the food is ready. Which they will hopefully use for… well. Working up an appetite. 

After watching a very boring documentary about money laundering, Theon chops the bell peppers he’s bought, one red, one orange, before he hops in the shower. It’s not hard at all to picture Jon in here with him, and Theon’s movements slow down when he imagines how it would be. He soaps himself up thoroughly, pretending it’s Jon’s hands roaming all over his body, teasing him, stroking… Theon fists his cock in a slippery hand, conjuring Jon’s face before his mind. His lovely mouth, slightly parted; his eyes, dark and beautiful… 

The doorbell rings seconds before Theon reaches the peak, and with a curse he quickly rinses himself off and, wrapped in a towel, hastens to get the door and yell at whoever dares to disturb him, and god have mercy with them if it’s those Sparrow guys with their creepy pamphlets. Theon rips the door open, ready to unleash his righteous fury on those sorry figures – and deflates immediately at the sight of Jon, finger still on the doorbell, staring at him in bewilderment. 

“Am I in trouble?” he asks, tilting his head and giving Theon a quick once-over. “Sorry, I know I’m too early. I can take a walk around the block until you’re ready?”

“Ah,” Theon says intelligently, trying to hold his towel in place while opening the door wider. “Course not, come in. I’ll… er…”

Jon steps inside, brushing Theon’s ribs with his naked arm as he walks past him. It feels a little like an electric shock on his wet skin, and with a slam Theon shuts the door, watching Jon as he toes off his sneakers. He’s dressed rather casually, tight jeans and a tee clinging to his torso, and he’s got his hair tied back again. He looks so good Theon can feel his dick coming back to life after being so rudely interrupted. He follows Jon into the living room where he looks around curiously, blushing a little at the sight of the set table. 

“Nice place,” he says, turning around and smiling his cute little half smile. “So, uh... what’s for dinner?”

Theon drops the towel. 

They’re at each other in a heartbeat, Jon’s hands sliding in Theon’s hair, Theon tearing at Jon’s tee until it sails through the air. Jon’s jeans hit the floor, nothing beneath but naked flesh. Jon’s mouth is on Theon’s neck, teeth digging into the skin until Theon moans half in pain, half unbearably aroused. He drags his fingers down Jon’s back, to his buttocks, firmly grabbing the pert globes and squeezing. He doesn’t even notice they’re moving until the back of his calves hit the couch and Jon shoves him down, immediately clambering onto Theon’s lap. For a moment he doesn’t move, staring down at Theon with dark eyes, breath going fast. 

“I thought today would never come,” Jon whispers hoarsely. “I couldn’t concentrate on anything, just kept thinking about you… in me…”

“God, Jon…” 

Theon moans as Jon’s dick slides against his, wet with both their precome. He lets his head sink onto the backrest of the couch and Jon immediately attacks his throat, covering it in tiny kisses and nibbles while his hands roam over Theon’s chest. He’s rocking his hips, moving up just a little until Theon’s dick slides between his cheeks. On the next downward move Jon makes it catches on his rim and Jon gasps, a shudder running through his whole body. 

“You got any – do you have – oooh!” Jon cries out when Theon grips his hair, dislodging the tie in the process. 

“Bedroom,” Theon mumbles, distracted by the way Jon’s curls come tumbling around his face, the smell of his shampoo hitting Theon’s senses. 

“Too far.” Jon gasp-laughs, leaning forward until his forehead meets Theon’s. “‘M too close – just like – ooh – just like this then…”

“Want you in my bed…” Theon pants, Jon’s mouth is almost on his but he won’t ruin this, not now, not when he’s so close to have Jon where he’s dreamt of him. 

“Yes… after… later…”

Theon can almost taste Jon’s cry when he rocks against him once more, when his dick twitches and covers Theon’s stomach in ribbons of white. He thrusts up, his cock sliding between Jon’s cheeks, wet with sweat and precome, and like that he spills too, tilting his head and muffling his own cry in Jon’s hair. 

They keep still for a moment before Jon slowly peels himself off Theon’s lap, shuffling a few steps away. “Bathroom?” he asks, suddenly all shy glances and flushed cheeks again. 

“Down the hall, second door on the left.” 

Theon’s gaze follows Jon as he waddles outside, looking almost comically in his attempt not to drip come onto the floor. Careful to prevent from doing any such thing himself, Theon sidles off of the couch and to the kitchen sink, thoroughly wiping his dick and stomach with wet paper towels before he washes his hands and gets the ingredients he needs out of the fridge, suddenly absolutely ravenous. 

“Oh, the naked chef!” Jon, decoratively clad in one of the bathrobes Theon had laid out, comes up to the counter, leaning against it. He still looks dazed and a little subdued, but he’s smiling. “What are we having?”

“My version of mac and cheese with a twist, if that’s okay?” Theon puts a pot with salted water on the stovetop, turning the heat to max. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to confuse the noodles.” 

Theon turns to stare at Jon, who’s blushing furiously while at the same time looking immensely proud at his lame joke. The sight of that, Jon in his kitchen, in his bathrobe, cracking jokes while waiting for Theon to cook for him… it does something to Theon, makes his chest tighten with sudden longing, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s leaned forward and grazed Jon’s mouth with his own. Jon’s chuckle fades, eyes widening ever so slightly, and suddenly Theon realizes what he’s done. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I didn’t… sorry.” And with that he turns to fetch the second bathrobe for himself, feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet. 

When he comes back Jon is just pouring the pasta into the sieve Theon had already placed in the sink. He takes one macaroni and holds it out to Theon. Theon bites into it, making an appreciative sound. Perfectly al dente. Gathering everything he needs from the fridge, Theon starts to feel better about the accidental kiss, especially because Jon is firmly pretending nothing happened. Which is nice of him, really. He looks so good, standing there and curiously watching Theon making a roux for the sauce… He’s not in the way at all, seeming to sense what Theon needs and when, handing him milk and cream and the various cheeses until everything is a nice, thick sauce. 

“That looks way better than the prepackaged stuff,” Jon comments, coming closer and peering into the pot.

“I’d hope so.” Theon tries a mouthful before offering Jon the spoon to taste the sauce. A bad idea, for Jon licking cheese sauce off a wooden spoon with abandon is a rather distracting sight, and Theon has to concentrate. “More salt? Pepper? Anything?” 

“Perfect.” Jon holds the spoon under the tap before dipping it back in the sauce and stirring a little. “What now?”

“The twist.” 

Theon puts a little pan next to the pot, drizzling it with olive oil. When the oil is hot he throws the chopped bell peppers inside. Then he pours the pasta into the sauce, stirring until all the bits are coated nicely. When the peppers are nicely grilled, Theon adds them to the mix before he turns to get the chicken. That, too, is chopped and stirred into the macaroni, and Theon lets the whole thing cook for a few minutes. Jon next to him fidgets and Theon gives him a grin. 

“That hungry?” he asks, reaching out to tug lightly at the belt of Jon’s bathrobe, earning a nod and a blush. “Good,” Theon says lightly. “Dinner is ready.”

For awhile they just eat in silence. That is, not exactly silence. Jon makes little noises while he eats, tiny moans that make Theon’s blood boil with want. Jon looks ridiculously sexy, sitting there guzzling the food Theon made, his hair loosely clouding around his face, the bathrobe open and revealing his lovely chest… Theon realizes he’s more watching Jon than eating himself, how Jon’s lips close around his fork, how his eyes close in rapture, another little moan, his throat working as he swallows… 

Finally Jon spears the last macaroni, wiping up the sauce left on his plate. “God, that was delicious,” he says with a sated sigh, licking a drop off his thumb. Theon’s ears start ringing at the sight of the rosy tongue flitting out from between Jon’s plump lips, and suddenly it gets to much. 

“Please come to bed with me,” Theon says, ignoring how desperate his voice sounds. “I need you there, Jon, please…”

Jon stares at Theon, eyes widening a fraction before he slowly nods. “Yes,” he says, and suddenly everything starts to move incredibly fast. 

Theon doesn’t know how they end up in the bedroom, both their robes lost somewhere in the frantic urge to get there, bruising bites, harsh hands tearing at each other, but then time slows down again and Theon stops, wide-eyed, greedily taking in the sight before him. Jon, laid back in Theon’s bed, hair fanning out over Theon’s pillow, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open and thighs parted wide, rock hard dick jutting out… it’s everything Theon could’ve imagined and more. Once again he wishes he were an artist, a photographer, anything to capture this image forever. 

“God, you are...” he starts, but there are too many things he wants to say, too many possible endings for that sentence, so Theon keeps the rest to himself. He kneels on the bed, between Jon’s parted legs, bending over him and placing a soft kiss on his stomach that makes Jon hum appreciatively. The vibration tickles Theon’s mouth and he smiles against Jon’s skin, propping himself up on his arms and letting his lips wander higher, over the lovely firm muscles up to Jon’s chest, to a tiny, copper nipple, already stiff when Theon has reached it. He licks it gently, listening to Jon’s gasp as he does it again before gently taking it between his teeth and tugging. 

Jon moans quietly, one hand wrapping around the back of Theon’s neck, fingers digging into his skin and urging him on. Theon gives another, gentle lick before he sucks the nipple back harshly, and this time Jon’s moan is loud, electrifying, and Theon does it again to hear more. He wanders from one nipple to the other, worshipping both of them until Jon is a writhing mess under him, a few droplets of sweat gathering on his brow, face flushed and so, so lovely. He’s made to be like this, made to be pleasured and served. 

Theon kisses a wet path up Jon’s throat, along the line of his jaw. His dick is achingly hard, but this time he wants it to last, wants to taste every inch of Jon’s skin before they both lose it. Unfortunately, Jon isn’t that patient. His legs wrap around Theon’s back, drawing him in until he yields and lays down, carefully balancing his weight on his elbows as their bodies are pressed flush together. Jon’s hand slides into Theon’s hair, tugging until he moves his head back to look at Jon. 

“I need you,” Jon says, nothing more than a hoarse whisper. He lifts his chin, eyes sliding closed when Theon meets him, placing tiny kisses all over his face, to his cheeks, his nose, the corner of his mouth. Jon’s lips part and it’s nearly too much, the temptation to break Jon’s rule getting overwhelming, so Theon quickly rocks down against Jon, making their dicks slide together. It’s distracting enough, especially when Jon arches into Theon, mumbling something Theon can’t make out. 

“You feel amazing,” he says. “I can’t even tell you how much I wanted you like this, here. I dreamed of it. Touched myself to the thought of you here, with me, taking you here in my own bed…”

“Then do it,” Jon whispers, voice rough and urgent. “Do it, take me.”

With one hand Theon fumbles for the lube he keeps in his bedside table, sitting up with a last gentle kiss to the hollow of Jon’s throat. He slicks his fingers thoroughly before he nudges Jon’s legs apart further. Jon helpfully lifts his hips when Theon gives his cock a quick stroke, letting his hand wander lower. Slowly he circles the tiny hole, applying just a bit of pressure, and already Jon’s moans get deeper, darker. He really wants it so much… Without further ado Theon slides the first finger inside, hissing when Jon immediately clenches around it. 

“You don’t need to be careful.” Jon hisses when Theon slowly repeats the motion. “I can take more – want more–”

“I know you can,” Theon says, languidly fucking into Jon, watching his finger vanish in him. “But I quite like the view.”

“Bastard,” Jon groans when Theon moves his finger faster. He’s really a sight to behold, writhing and twisting, his cheeks a lovely shade of red… Theon crooks his finger, applying just the right amount of pressure, and Jon’s hips lift of the bed. “More,” he whispers, “ _please_ more!”

“I could do this all day,” Theon mutters, letting a second finger join the first, making Jon gasp. “I could watch you for hours, coming undone like this, here, with me.”

Jon doesn’t answer, too busy rocking back against Theon’s fingers. His hands are gripping onto the sheet when Theon drives into him a little faster. Jon is tossing his head from side to side when Theon spreads his fingers, massaging him, ghosting over the prostate without directly stimulating it. It wasn’t a lie, he really could do this for hours, never mind his own, aching cock. Theon is sweating, his hand is starting to tire, but Jon is so perfect like this, taking it, taking three fingers with nothing more than a guttural cry when Theon finally gives in to his needy pleas… He wants him. Wants Jon like this, moaning and panting, wants him in his bed and his kitchen and his life. 

With a jolt Theon removes his fingers, making Jon cry out. He lubes up his cock, lining up with Jon’s hole and finally driving into him. Theon goes slow, eyes fixed on his dick disappearing in Jon’s body. Jon keeps still, breath going fast, until finally Theon is fully inside. Theon pants, waits, just a moment, to make sure Jon has time to adapt to being filled like this, but then Jon suddenly moves up and reaches out, wrapping his arms around Theon’s shoulders and dragging him down until he’s lying on top of him. 

“Like this,” he whispers in Theon’s ear. “Want to feel you everywhere.”

A shudder goes through Theon at that; he turns to the side, just a little to not crush Jon with his weight. Jon strokes his back, down to his arse, urging him on, and finally Theon can’t hold back anymore. Jon feels so perfect around him, beneath him, and with a harsh move Theon grips Jon’s leg, fingers digging into his thigh as he moves his hips. He fucks Jon slowly, a smooth slick glide that takes his breath away. Jon’s face is slack, eyes closed and lips parted, rosy tongue flitting out to wet them. Theon groans, shivers, doubling his speed. Jon’s leg wraps around him, drawing him deeper, Jon’s moans and gasps filling Theon’s ears. 

He’s sweating, they both are, and Theon tilts his head to lick up a droplet running down Jon’s throat. Jon cries out, his fingers digging so hard in Theon’s back it nearly hurts, he thrusts harder, going as deep as he can, heat rising and suddenly everything peaks and Theon’s whole body tenses as he comes. Jon cries out, almost a sob, moving a hand between them and to his own dick, stroking frantically, his voice getting darker and darker until he stops on a bitten-off moan and warmth spreads between them. 

Theon slumps down, vaguely aware of his softening dick sliding out of Jon. He tries to catch his breath, burying his face in Jon’s chest, feeling it rising and falling quickly beneath his cheek. Jon’s fingers are wandering over Theon’s back, to his neck, playing with the hair at his nape. It feels so soft, so tender, tugging at something in Theon’s chest, and suddenly there’s that thought… what if this really could be more? Could Jon want Theon the same way Theon wants him? They don’t know each other well, sure, but that would come in time. They could try… Theon gently presses his mouth to Jon’s chest. So what if he doesn’t like kissing, Theon can live with that. He wants him, wants this. For as long as possible. 

“You have any weekend plans?” Theon murmurs against Jon’s skin. 

“Hmm, no particular ones.” Jon sounds sleepy, sated. “I have to get back to work – my regular work – on Monday, but until then…”

“What do you do? For work?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Jon asks, then gasps and chuckles when Theon lightly bites his chest. “Okay, okay… I’m working in a doggie salon.”

Theon bites his lip, trying to keep still, but he can’t help the laughter bubbling up in him, repressing it until his whole body vibrates with it. Jon smacks his head reproachfully. 

“There’s nothing funny about that,” he says, but he sounds like he’s grinning to. 

Theon lifts his head, peering up at Jon’s face to confirm it. “So you’re shampooing poodles and stuff like that?” he asks. 

“Oh, shut up. I like dogs, and it’s not forever, only until my deal with Baelish is done – another eight months – and then I’ll look into something full time.” 

“Hm…” Eight more months. That means thirty-two more shows. And only two of them are Theon’s. He quickly shakes off the creeping jealousy, sitting up and nudging Jon in the ribs. “So, since you have no weekend plans… how about you stay? We could do some stuff – not just bedroom stuff I mean,” Theon clarifies when Jon raises an eyebrow. “I could cook for you again. We could go out and watch a movie. Or stay in and you’ll suck my dick… ouch!” 

Theon laughs, quickly jumping off the bed and out of reach when Jon smacks him with a pillow. He runs for the bathroom, but Jon catches him just before Theon can reach the door, pressing him against the wall. They’re both sticky and in need of a shower, another thing they could do together, but right now Theon finds he doesn’t mind as Jon leans into him, keeping him firmly in place. Jon’s chuckles slowly subside, his eyes getting darker as he tilts his head. Theon reaches out, softly stroking Jon’s hair back before he leans in, remembering just before he meets Jon’s mouth, going for his neck instead. And suddenly Jon is gone. 

Theon stumbles, staring at Jon who has moved back, his face not soft or relaxed anymore, but absolutely furious. “What the _fuck_ even is your problem?!” Jon yells before he turns on his heel and stomps off. 

Theon follows slowly, not having the slightest idea what is happening. He feels as if someone’s poured a bucket of ice over his head. “Jon?” he calls. “What’s wrong? Did I–” He trails off when he enters the living room, where Jon is getting dressed at the speed of light. He doesn’t answer, ignoring Theon’s question, and all Theon can do is watch helplessly as Jon leaves. The door slams shut, and Theon is alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that. The conclusion follows in the next (and last) chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I know it isn't Tuesday. But I'm done, and I'm very much suffering from look-what-I-wrote-now-praise-me syndrome ^^'

On Tuesday Theon arrives at the club with more than a little apprehension. He’s spent the whole weekend and most parts of yesterday and today going over everything again and again in his mind, replaying everything that had happened, everything he’d said and done, and yet he just can’t put his finger on it. One moment everything was wonderful and perfect and then, out of nowhere, Jon had been so angry. The look on his face is etched into Theon’s mind. Not only anger… he’d been hurt. And while Theon has no idea what he did to hurt Jon, he’d do everything to set things right again. 

At the door he’s intercepted by the redhead bouncer guy again, only this time he doesn’t say a single word. He simply takes Theon by the shoulder, steering him through the club and to Jon’s dressing room. His grip is like iron, and Theon is sure he’ll sport a nice set of five finger-shaped bruises come tomorrow. He doesn’t dare to protest though, keeping his mouth shut in case the guy meant it when he talked about killing Theon. But in the end nothing more than a threatening glare is forthcoming before Theon is pushed backwards through the door and it slams shut in his face. 

The room is completely silent, and Theon takes a deep breath before turning around – and breathing a sigh of relief. Jon is there alright, sitting in a chair, in his robe, gaze fixed on his crossed arms. Something in Theon loosens at the sight, while simultaneously tightening his chest. He’s missed Jon, has worried about him, and right now he wants nothing more than go to him, untangle his arms and ask for forgiveness, for whatever he’s done. But maybe Jon doesn’t want that, and so Theon stays put.

“Didn’t think you’d come tonight,” Jon says, not looking up. His voice doesn’t sound angry at all anymore, only resigned, and sad. 

“I’m sorry. Whatever it was, I’m sorry.” Theon takes a step closer, stopping when Jon suddenly lifts his head and gives him a quick glance. 

“I just don’t get it. Is it because of this?” Jon asks, gesticulating around. “It just doesn’t make sense to me. That you’d do everything, even…” Jon blushes, finally looking Theon in the eyes. “Why don’t you kiss me? What is it? Don’t you like it or is it me?”

“ _Me?_ ” Theon asks, completely blindsided. “ _You’re_ the one who doesn’t like it. You’re the one who bit a guy who tried.”

“What…” Jon slowly gets to his feet, staring at Theon in bewilderment. “Who the fuck said that?”

“Olyvar,” Theon says, shrugging. “When I was here for the first time. He told me to come down to… you know, finish you? And he warned me not to kiss you and that the last guy who tried–”

“A COMPLETE FUCKING STRANGER!!” Jon yells, and with that he’s at Theon, shoving him hard. “How fucking _stupid_ are you even – there’s a fucking difference between some random guy and someone _I’m fucking falling in love with!_ ”

Jon stops mid-shove, paling so suddenly Theon instinctively reaches out, but Jon steps out of reach, eyes wide, shaking his head. “Get dressed,” he says weakly, turning away. “It’s ten.”

Theon does as he’s told, numbly shucking his clothes and dressing in another set of Olyvar’s uniforms. Jon won’t look at him, just stands there already armed with a towel, and after giving him a last gaze Theon shakes himself, straightening his shoulders, and walks out. Thunderous applause greats him, and Theon arranges his face into a broad, fake smile. 

“Gentlemen, welcome back to our Tuesday special – let’s give Jon a reason to join us in here!”

The noise impossibly heightens, and under whoops and cheers Jon comes out, ignoring the crowd as per usual as he clambers onto the massage table where he immediately buries his face in his arms. Theon watches him for a moment, waiting, but when nothing happens he gives a little shrug and goes in position beside the table. He’s not sure what to do. His head feels like it’s packed with cotton wool; it’s impossible to think straight. What Jon had said… it’s unbelievable. Unthinkable. It can’t be true. Theon reaches out, hesitantly placing his hand between Jon’s shoulder blades. He’s warm to the touch, showing absolutely no reaction. 

“Did you mean it?” Theon asks quietly. “What you said?”

For a long moment it’s silent. “Get on with it,” Jon mutters finally. “The audience isn’t paying for us to have a chat.”

Theon sighs, moving his hand up to Jon’s neck. He strokes the soft hair, drives into it, swirling his fingertips over Jon’s scalp. It makes goosebumps prickle over Jon’s skin, but he still doesn’t make a single sound. Unbidden, the image of Jon’s hair coming loose appears in Theon’s mind, how Jon looked poised above him on the couch, then later in his kitchen, smiling and licking the spoon… Theon’s heart clenches painfully and he bends, placing his lips on Jon’s nape in a soft kiss. 

“I did want it,” he whispers. “From the very first time I saw you. And then I came here and Olyvar said…” Jon huffs, and Theon grins against his skin. “Yes, that was stupid of me. But you came to me the next time I was here and suddenly all I could think of was, don’t ruin this. Don’t make Jon do anything he doesn’t want. Don’t scare him away.” Theon kisses along Jon’s neck, to his ear, giving it a little nip that has Jon shiver. “I could hardly think of anything else, and then I got a little carried away with that _rule_ of yours.” Another soft kiss, just beneath Jon’s jaw. “I’m sorry.”

With that Theon straightens, giving the audience a wide smile while he fumbles for the lube. He squirts it directly onto Jon’s arse, placing one hand on the small of Jon’s back when it makes him jolt. Theon lets his hand slide between the pert cheeks, thoroughly distributing the lube, circling a fingertip around Jon’s hole. Jon shifts, slowly drawing one knee up as if he can’t help it. He seems determined not to make any noise, but when Theon inserts two fingers at once he can’t bite back a gasp. Placing one hand on Jon’s thigh Theon starts to fuck into him at a nice, languid pace, twisting his hand as he drives his fingers into Jon’s slick warmth. 

There are gasps and low groans coming from the men watching them, and Theon crooks his fingers, firmly massaging Jon’s insides. Jon’s breathing is getting laboured, fingers digging into the towel, arse lifting up to meet Theon’s thrusts. Everything about him is so beautiful, so perfect, how the muscles in his back tense, how his arse clenches, his flanks quiver… Theon goes faster, sweat starting to bead at his forehead, his own dick almost painfully hard. Despite the urge to touch it, to keep it in check, Theon restrains himself, concentrating on his goal. And that is to make Jon scream. 

Which he still seems intent on not doing, not even when Theon adds a third finger to the others. The effect is immediate: Jon shivers from head to toe, halfway coming off the table and emitting a small whimper. It’s not enough, nowhere near enough, and Theon pulls back with a frustrated sigh. Jon slowly sinks down onto the towel, shoulders still trembling, breath going hard. Theon studies him for a moment. 

“Where’s the toy?” he finally asks, and Jon turns his head, glowering at Theon. 

“Dressing room,” he says. “What of it?”

“Well…” Theon strokes Jon’s buttocks, giving one a loving pat. “Maybe that’ll make you talk, if I can’t.”

“Good luck with that,” Jon mutters insolently, and Theon has had enough. 

“Gentlemen, I beg your forgiveness for the interruption,” he calls out to the audience. “My beautiful colleague and I have a thing to discuss before I’ll take him apart.”

And with that he grabs Jon’s arm, almost dragging him off the table until he staggers to his feet, towing him back behind the curtain where Jon breaks loose, glaring at Theon in angry confusion. 

“Have you lost your mind?!” he hisses. “They’re paying an exorbitant sum to see me–”

“Shut up!” Theon says, so forcefully Jon’s mouth actually snaps shut. He’s standing there, completely naked, dark eyes shooting sparks, so beautiful… “Did you mean it?” Theon asks him once more. “Tell me, Jon. Did you really mean it?”

For a long moment Jon continues to glare at Theon before his face suddenly softens. “I mean it. I may be an idiot for it, but I mean it.”

“Olyvar was right,” Theon says. “We’re both idiots.” And then he takes the few steps separating them and kisses Jon square on the mouth.

Jon stands perfectly still as Theon slides a hand into his hair, cradling the back of his head, the other hand wrapping around his waist and pulling him close. His lips are soft but unyielding, and for one horrible moment Theon thinks he’s got it wrong after all when suddenly a shiver runs through Jon and his whole body goes slack, melting against Theon. Jon’s mouth opens, his arms come around Theon’s neck and then he’s kissing him back. He kisses Theon as if he needs him to breathe, as if it’s their only chance. His mouth is pure silk, warm, soft, a low moan rising in his throat. 

It doesn’t last long, this first kiss, and Theon immediately takes a second, a third. He doesn’t know how to stop, not now when he finally has this, but stop it does when they run out of breath. Jon sways against Theon, making a curious little noise between a sob and a laugh, and Theon pulls back to look at him. Jon is half smiling, more beautiful than ever with his kiss-reddened lips and his eyes shining like a light. 

“We have to go back,” he says. “You promised them you’ll take me apart.”

“True.” Theon leans forward, placing another soft kiss on Jon’s mouth. “And I intend to keep my promise.”

And he does. Actually, Theon takes Jon apart two times, once on all fours on the table, with the toy drilling into him until his voice breaks and he comes with his dick untouched, and then again, on his back with Theon’s fingers buried deep in his arse and Theon’s lips wrapped around his cock. The audience is rapturous, so much so Theon makes a low bow before he theatrically sweeps Jon up and carries him backstage. And kisses him again. 

“What now?” Jon asks when they pause to breathe. His cheeks are red, his eyes glowing. 

Theon kisses along his jaw, up to his mouth. “Come home with me.”

“You have to work tomorrow,” Jon mumbles indistinctly, eyes sliding shut and lips obediently parting when Theon traces them with his tongue. 

“So what?” Theon kisses him again, sucking at Jon’s lip, nibbling it gently. “You have work too.” 

“Not… not tomorrow.” Jon gasps when Theon bites down a tiny bit harder.

“All the better.” Theon pulls back just enough to rub his nose against Jon’s. “I can kiss you goodbye when I leave in the morning.” He kisses the corner of Jon’s mouth. “I’ll hurry home at lunch and kiss you some more.” A sudden, hard kiss that leaves them both gasping for air. “And then I’ll kiss you goodnight again in the evening.”

“And then what,” Jon whispers, giving Theon a dazed glance. 

“Rinse and repeat,” Theon says, and then he shuts them both up rather thoroughly. 

***

“Hey baby, have you missed me?” 

Jon looks up when Theon strolls into their dressing room on what is their last Tuesday together on stage. 

“I’ve seen you this morning,” he says dryly, then blushes when Theon comes over to thoroughly kiss him. “Okay, yes, maybe I have.” 

“Thought so.” Theon tries not to feel too smug when he notices Jon ogling him as he undresses. Which also makes him notice that Jon is still in civvies. “You should get going. I can already hear them grinding their teeth in anticipation.”

“They can wait for a moment.” At that Theon turns to fully look at Jon. His voice sounds as if he’s suppressing a smile, though his face is serious. “I’ve had mail,” he says, reaching behind himself and pulling something out of his back pocket. 

Theon takes it. It’s a postcard, showing sand dunes and palm trees and a dopey looking camel with sunglasses. He turns it around, squinting as he tries to decipher the tiny scrawl. 

_Hello, dears!_

_Dorne is fantastic, the wine, the weather, the sea – and of course the men. Or, one man. Who has made me an offer I cannot refuse._

_Jon, darling, I shall miss you and your terrific bum. Remember, only a few more months and you’re free as a bird. Although I’m sure the boss would go to great lengths to keep you in business. Negotiate well and you can give up your day job._

_Theon, you can have the job, and the money. I’m an outrageously spoiled sugar babe now. You talk to Baelish, too, I’m sure he’ll be amiable._

_My dear idiots boys, I wish you all the best. Should you decide to take a holiday, you’re welcome to Dorne anytime._

_Lots of love,_

_Olyvar_

Theon lets the card sink, staring at Jon. He’s smiling now, and slowly Theon feels a smile creeping onto his face as well. “So… we’re actually doing this? You and me, on the stage?”

“And off the stage, I’d hope,” Jon says, raising his eyebrows. 

“God, no.” Theon reaches out, drawing Jon into his arms and kissing the tip of his nose. “I’m already sick of you, can’t you tell?” 

Jon lifts his head, shutting Theon up with a rather intense kiss. “Yes, I noticed this morning when you followed me to the loo.”

“I needed a shower!” Theon protests, yelping when Jon meanly pokes him in the ribs. “Alright, alright, I’ll keep you for a little while.” He places a last, lingering kiss to Jon’s mouth. “Helps that I’m falling in love with you too. Now get on with it, _Aegon_ , we have work to do.”

And with that he leaves an open-mouthed Jon behind and steps through the curtain, a grin spreading on his face when the men in the audience cheer, Theon’s name as well as Jon’s. This for an indefinable future? 

Totally fine. 

***

**A Note from Theon:**

So, I heard some of you have developed a craving for Theon Greyjoy's patented Mac and Cheese? No wonder, it’s fucking perfect. I hope you appreciate my effort here, I actually dragged myself out of bed to jot that shit down for you. A bed containing my boyfriend, I might add. Here we go: 

(Baked) Mac and Cheese with a Twist

Serves: Two very hungry, very horny guys – or 3-4 normal people

Ingredients: 

3 cups of grated Parmesan cheese*

1 1/2 cups of Panko crumbs*

4 teaspoons of paprika powder*

6 tablespoons of melted unsalted butter*

500 grams of macaroni

6 tablespoons unsalted butter and half a cup of all purpose flour for the roux

grilled chicken

2 bell peppers (Red, orange or yellow. Not green. There’s a place in the kitchen for green peppers, but this is not it.)

4 cups of grated cheddar, the older the better

2 cups of swiss cheese, best take Gruyere

4 cups of milk (And I’m talking real milk. Keep that soy stuff for something else, but don’t you dare ruin my recipe with it!)

1 cup of heavy cream

olive oil 

\- Cook the mac just al dente (The original recipe says one minute shy of al dente, but if I want something to spring back when I bite into it, I’ll eat erasers) and set them aside. Drizzle with a tiny bit of olive oil

\- preheat oven to 350 degrees F*

\- grill chicken and set aside 

\- chop and grill the bell peppers

\- grate all the cheeses (Or you let your boyfriend grate them – but don’t take your eyes off him or he’ll scoff more than he grates)

\- make a roux (Put the butter in the pot you cooked the mac in and set heat to medium. When melted, whisk in the flour until you have a smooth mix.)

\- slowly mix the milk and cream into the pot, all the while stirring

\- throw in a handful of cheese (cheddar and swiss) and mix until it's melted. repeat until all cheddar and swiss cheese is in the sauce and it's nicely thick and creamy. Try to keep your boyfriend from diving headfirst into the pot.

\- season to taste with salt and pepper

\- pour macaroni into the sauce and stir until they're well coated

\- stir bell peppers and chopped chicken into the mix 

\- grease a suitable oven form and pour the mac and cheese in*

\- mix parmesan with panko, paprika powder and melted butter*

\- spread the panko mixture over the mac and cheese*

\- bake in the oven until golden browned on top*

*If you want it baked, that is. You can also just eat it like it is without baking, which I did when I first made it for Jon, remember? No time for that shit and it’s fabulous without it. If you insist on baking it, watch out for those panko crumbs. Not something you want to eat in bed. 

Hope your cooking efforts are successful – if not is sure as fuck isn’t my fault. Off you go to your stove and turn up the heat, and I’ll go back to bed and do the same before Jon goes into cardiac arrest. What are you waiting for? It’s not Tuesday, so if you want to watch I suggest you come to the next show. 

Now kindly fuck off ;-*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a lot of fun. I hope you enjoyed it! I shall concentrate on my two other WIPs now before I start on a third again, but if anyone has a short, sweet, smutty prompt, I'm all ears. Between the kissing fic that is the Tangled AU and the agonizing slowburn that is LotN I'll be craving it soon enough :) 
> 
> Thank you all for your love and kudos and comments, every single one is so so SO appreciated! ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Dears, I hope some of you enjoyed this little thing. If you did, please consider telling me in a comment *not-so-subtle-begging*


End file.
